


The High Crown

by stanakin96



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anakin is a prince, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Jealous Anakin Skywalker, Love Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Romance, Royalty, SOME CONFLICTING TAGS, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tension, Virgin Anakin Skywalker, Yearning, implied Codywan, mentioned finnpoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanakin96/pseuds/stanakin96
Summary: True love or the crown?A question Anakin thought he'd never have to answer.Every eye in the Kingdom of Tatooine is on their young prince, Anakin Skywalker, as he goes into an arranged marriage in order to claim his place as king. However, Anakin finds himself wishing things were different when he meets the dashing knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A connection is forged between the two men in the shadows, and thus, a burning attraction they simply cannot ignore.Anakin found himself undeniably drawn to General Kenobi. He watched him eat, drink, breathe. He often wondered, carelessly, how it felt to be the wine at the back of the General’s throat.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 82
Kudos: 141





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Sweet friends! Thank you for reading :)

In the land of Tatooine, a large country surrounded by sea and forest, there once lived a young prince called Anakin. He was devastating and gorgeous, often pretending he was not a prince, but a knight instead. He liked the workers more than his cousins, he hid in the kitchen cabinets to avoid his responsibilities, and often found himself in all sorts of trouble.

“Anakin, I know you’re in here,” called out Qui-Gon, a member of the royal guard who had elected to watch over Anakin.

“I know you don’t want to do this your grace,” Qui-Gon said, laying eyes on the young prince, at last.

It was the morning of his mother’s funeral. Anakin was roughly eleven, twelve if you directly asked him. Qui-Gon picked up a piece of bread that had been reserved for the funeral, broke it in half, and sat down at the table with the young prince. He handed him a slice, to which he took with suspicion.

“What if it gets on my funeral clothes?” Anakin asked, already taking a bite. Qui-Gon felt poorly for the boy, knowing that this day would likely live in his memory forever. Not as a son who’d lost his mother, but as the young, expectation-laden prince of Tatooine. Qui-Gon took a bite before replying.

“Then we’ll both have crumbs, I suppose.” Anakin quietly laughed at Qui-Gon, who was grateful more than anything to see him smile. After a moment’s rest, the two stood up and Anakin paced closely behind Qui-Gon. He didn’t want to go to the funeral reception but would follow Qui-Gon anywhere he said to. Even before his mother had passed away, Qui-Gon had always taken care of him.

Without ever admitting it- Anakin was terrified.

He’d liked his mother very much. She had long, brown hair, always smelled of fruit, and knew exactly how to make him feel better. She didn’t see him as anything other than a boy, which Anakin greatly struggled with when finding worthwhile companions.

Anakin did all but take Qui-Gon’s had as they walked out to the courtyard, where the funeral reception was being held. He did the rounds with the general, begrudgingly saying hello to various royal representatives. He received wet, perfumed hugs from women he did not know, aggressive handshakes from tall, intimidating men. If everything had gone his way, he would have run off with Poe, a worker’s son that Anakin revered as his one and only friend close to his age.

After walking around with Qui-Gon, Anakin eventually grew tired and slipped away, anxious to get to his favorite hiding spot on the castle grounds. He ran up the cobblestone stairs to the tallest point in the castle, where archers and guards used to patrol while members of the royal family still lived there. Anakin reached the top, breath heavy from running and body warm from his heavy funeral clothing. He went directly to his spot at the ledge of the roof when he saw _him_ , a boy.

The young prince quickly hid behind a pillar, hoping that the sound of his footsteps hadn’t alerted the stranger of his presence. He peered from behind the object, careful so that he would not see him. He was far older than Anakin, appearing to be eighteen at the very youngest. He had long, blond hair that hugged his face, and had perched himself at the edge, dangling his legs and looking down at the reception.

“You might come and talk with me if it would please you,” he said, his voice smooth and low. Anakin could feel something in his chest when he heard him but couldn’t quite place his finger on it. He’d never felt so nervous, not even when he’d spoken to adults.

The boy stood up, a solid foot and a half above Anakin. He wore a tight, black shirt and pants, he held out his hand to Anakin, “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Anakin stood there, unable to move at the closeness of the stranger. He jerked out his hand to shake Obi-Wan’s, whose long fingers surrounded all of his hand. This interaction only made the young prince more nervous, as the feeling of Obi-Wan’s warm, strong hand around him made him feel odd. Perhaps he’d been stung by something or waved his hand too close to a lit candle.

“I’m Anakin,” he replied, softly, knowing that Obi-Wan’s entire demeanor would change once he knew who he was. A blip of silence filled the space between the two boys while Anakin waited for the inevitable, he looked down at his shoes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anakin. Would you like to sit with me?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin looked up at him, still silent at the never-ending pressure of the boy’s attention.

Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin, “we don’t even have to talk if won’t have it, I promise,” Anakin quickly nodded at him, shocked at how normally he was being treated.

Usually, when people realized who he was; the motherless, pathetic Prince of Tatooine, they treated him like a glass object to be gawked at in a display case. Obi-Wan made him feel like just a boy. Nervous, but a boy none the less. The two walked toward the edge in silence and sat down only a few inches from each other, legs dangerously hanging off the edge.

“Are you a knight?” Anakin asked, looking up at Obi-Wan.

He smiled at the young prince, “I’m training to be one, actually,” Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin sighed loudly, “they won’t let me be a knight. What’s your training like?” Obi-Wan laughed quietly, his warm breath puffing clouds into the air before he began explaining to Anakin the going-abouts of his day.

Anakin smiled back at him; nobody he’d met before at any royal event had ever treated him so normally, made him feel quite so _seen_.

The pair talked until the reception was over, going back and forth from Anakin asking questions to Obi-Wan answering them, trying to change the subject, and Anakin immediately going back to his Knighthood. Anakin was sad when his new friend had to leave, save that he knew very little about him, and had only interacted with him for a few hours.

However, as the days progressed, Anakin couldn’t help but wonder about him when he saw the statues of armor lining the hallways. He couldn’t help it as thoughts of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the knight in training, filled empty spaces in his mind as time and time went by.

-

Eight years passed as the country of Tatooine watched the young prince grow up. Every eye was on Anakin as he approached his twentieth birthday, the year he would take his mother’s spot as ruler of Tatooine. Whether or not he would like it, twenty would also be the year he was to be married.

He sat across from Qui-Gon as he had so many times before while they ate a quiet breakfast. Poe, Anakin’s valet, usually joined them. However, today he would be with the rest of the castle workers arranging for the visitors that would be arriving later in the day.

“You needn’t be nervous,” Qui-Gon said, bringing his usual cup of coffee up to his lips while he waited on Anakin to take anything more than a bite from his meal.

“I’ve never met her,” Anakin stopped and took a sip of his water, “Padmé.”

“Your betrothed?” Qui-Gon asked, witnessing Anakin’s body recoil in nerves at the statement.

“She’s not my betrothed,” Anakin said, wary of how bratty he must have sounded. He’d known this day was coming his entire life, it was not as though he’d gone unprepared for the day he’d enter into his arranged engagement. Which was a simpler way of describing an arranged marriage.

Anakin wrapped his fingers around his cup and tapped the glass with his nails, “why do they call it an arranged engagement rather than an arranged marriage?”

Qui-Gon lifted his eyebrow at Anakin, “I know your tutors have explained this to you,” he took a final sip of his coffee. “Your royal advisors are not against you, they want you to be happy, so they have provided several months for you to get to know Padmé before you enter into a marriage.”

“Is the illusion of choice better than the discomfort of being forced to do something General?” Anakin asked, throwing his head back in his chair and pouting. Before Qui-Gon could get another word in, they heard a loud knocking at the kitchen door.

Poe walked into the room, dressed in his nicest clothing and dark hair gelled back. He looked at Anakin angrily, “do you not care what you look like when you meet the Princess of Naboo your highness?”

Anakin stood up to respond to him, knowing that he would soon be taken away to get ready with Poe. He stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head, “don’t bother, come with me.” Anakin shot a quick wave at Qui-Gon as he left with Poe to get ready.

He stood in front of a tall mirror that was propped against the wall in his room as Poe slipped his jacket over his large shoulders. Anakin looked at himself, confused, wondering how it was he was allowed to be wearing clothing that looked like this. It was the coat of one of his uncles, he’d recognized it from the paintings in the hallway. It was a dark, velvet jacket with stamps of ornate designs rolling up the sleeves, so intricate that he looked as though he’d been steeped in gold. He furrowed his brow, questioning the judgment of whoever had allowed him to look so grown-up.

“Are you well your grace?” Poe asked, taking a comb to his hair briefly, knowing that Anakin would swipe it away in a matter of moments.

“I’m very well,” he responded, staying still so that Poe could fix the crown on his head. It was the only one he liked; small, brass-colored, and more reminiscent of his mother’s than anything that had been made for him. “Thank you,” he said, looking up at Poe.

Anakin was more than capable of getting himself dressed, but valued the time spent with Poe. There was also the fact that he could somehow never replicate how he felt when Poe dressed him with anybody _but_ him. He’d been his only friend, save Qui-Gon, ever since he could remember.

“Are you ready, Prince Skywalker?” Poe asked, his use of Anakin’s formal title making him laugh. He always knew how to bring out the best of him.

“I suppose,” Anakin replied, admiring the designs on his coat, considering wearing it every day of the week that he was allowed. He stepped out into the hallway en route to the Grand Foyer, where Princess Amidala would be waiting to be formally introduced to Anakin, who was doing his best to calm his nervous heart. Something about today felt so different, he hadn’t quite felt like this since before. Like he was standing on the precipice of something that would change his world forever. After all, his marriage to Padmé would be the catalyst to his reign as King of Tatooine, a role he’d been preparing for his entire life.

He stopped at the double doors, where Qui-Gon was waiting for him. He wore his formal military attire; a look Anakin only saw at balls. As the retired General of the Tatooine royal guard, Qui-Gon was well decorated. The sound of trumpets echoed through the lonely hallway as Anakin walked through the room, Poe trailing at his coat like a guard dog.

Anakin opened his mouth to greet the princess, but found himself caught on a word the moment he saw her; Padmé Amidala.

She was beautiful, dark brown hair tied up in an intricate braid, a light blue ballgown draping off her shoulders like it would be a crime if anybody wore it other than her. She was stunning, encapsulating, and the object of Anakin’s undivided attention; had it not been for the man standing next to her.

“Good morning, princess,” Anakin said, taking her hand and placing a warm kiss on her knuckles. Anakin could feel his face growing red, and not at the closeness of the princess. He was sick under the attention of the soldier she had at her side, _was everyone from Naboo gorgeous?_ Anakin wondered, _and have I seen this man before?_

“Good morning, Prince Skywalker,” she replied with a quick curtsy, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Anakin did his best to move his gaze to Padmé.

“Yes, and the same to you,” he replied, choking on his words. He’d never been so inarticulate before in his life. But he couldn’t stop looking at _him_ , the soldier with the dark blonde hair. He was clad in white and gold armor that showed off his cut muscles and frankly, regal posture.

“This is the General of my royal guard, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin let out a repressed laugh that sounded more like a cough.

“Kenobi, your highness?” Anakin cleared his throat, “Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“That _is_ what she just said, your grace,” Poe whispered into Anakin’s ear.

The General of the Naboo royal guard held out his hand, “it’s a pleasure, your highness.”

Anakin reached his hand out to shake it, feeling his body shoot back in place at the feeling of Obi-Wan’s fingers touching his, wrapped around him. He’d gotten taller and stronger since Anakin’s mother’s funeral, but no less captivating.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Anakin replied, failing to take his gaze off of the General. He felt Poe kick at his heels, bringing him back to life. Padmé awkwardly laughed, doing her best to remain collected in an already tense situation.

“We will join you tonight for dinner, Princess,” Qui-Gon said, bowing to her and motioning for Anakin to leave. Anakin and Poe bowed as well, their short-lived interaction with Padmé Amidala coming to an abrupt end.

Surely the meeting was meant to last longer than all of two minutes, but Anakin was embarrassing the country of Tatooine with his behavior. Even after he was out of sight, his mind could only focus on General Kenobi.

“Have you been stabbed, your grace?” Poe said, throwing his hands in the air at Anakin the moment the double doors closed.

Anakin shook his head, eyes focused on the ground. He hadn’t thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi for years and was positive the knight didn’t remember him at all.

“The General will come to dinner tonight,” Anakin said, hungry to know more.

He walked past Qui-Gon and Poe, knowing that they would pester him about his behavior and do their best to coach him into acting better, which he was well capable of. Anakin _would_ act better, be charming, and formal as a good prince should be to a princess.

However, until then, he’d hoard his excitement to see Obi-Wan in his warm palms. He continued to his quarters, thinking back to the day of his mother’s funeral. He disregarded the calls of an exasperated Poe as a small, a secret smile began to line his lips.


	2. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Anakin, Princess Padme, and the General Obi-Wan all have dinner together. Obi-Wan and Anakin get closer, much closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)

Anakin found himself dreaming of him, The General Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Some dreams unremarkable and some that gripped his chest tight enough to rip him out of sleep. He’d had one in particular that’d plagued him on the fourth anniversary of his mother’s funeral.

The setting was always the same, the two were joined together at the ledge of the castle, their feet off the edge, neither looking at the other. Except, Anakin wasn’t the scared, small eleven-year-old anymore. He was fifteen, he was older and had grown taller, bigger. Obi-Wan always looked the same no matter how many years had passed. Gorgeous, sun reflecting off his blonde hair and making it look like perhaps it was sparkling.

Neither boy would talk to the other, and the dream always ended at the same point. Anakin would turn to Obi-Wan and ask him to stay with him.

The ending would never change, either.

Obi-Wan would reach his hand over and place his palm on top of Anakin’s fingers. Anakin could feel the warmth of his skin as though he’d physically touched them himself. Anakin would fold his fingers into his, taking the older boy’s hand. It would be enough to jolt Anakin awake, his body drenched in sweat and leading to a sleepless night.

He recalled every moment of his pained, long dreams about Obi-Wan as Poe helped him dress for dinner. He couldn’t quite place why he’d dreamt about the general so much. Or why someone he’d only met once, and for a few hours, had such an intense lasting impression on him.

“You’re awfully quiet prince,” Poe remarked, sitting on a small stool in front of Anakin. “Is it the General?” Poe asked, raising his eyebrow at Anakin.

“What should you mean by that?” Anakin started, before Poe interrupted him.

“You used to look at me that way,” Poe said, smiling up at him.

It was true, the pair had a complicated history. Poe was the first person Anakin ever had feelings for, besides Obi-Wan. They’d had a brief affair that ended in true friendship, as Anakin’s title would never allow him to marry outside the monarchy. Though, Poe taught Anakin nearly everything he knew about courtship- talking, kissing, _almost_ everything.

“Just make me look dashing as always,” Anakin requested, a wicked smile peeking out from the side of his smirk. “And not for the General, for my _betrothed_.”

Poe hummed, motioning his hands to Anakin for him to stand up. He started to roll his sleeves back down to his wrists. “You shouldn’t fool me for a moment, my prince,” said Poe, pining a gold circle into the cuff of his jacket.

He’d dressed Anakin in a dark green jacket, one of his favorites to prepare him for the dinner. Nothing quite helped the young prince feel better than a well-tailored suit. He would need it to face them both, his childhood obsession and his soon to be bride.

“Just remember as I taught you, your grace,” Qui-Gon said as he escorted Anakin down to the dining room. They could not have a repeat of this morning, where Anakin had to be honorably removed from the Grand Foyer due to his incompetence around Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I swear to do better, Qui-Gon,” Anakin replied, placing a hand on his large shoulder, “though I’d feel much better if you joined us.”

Qui-Gon shot a small, careful smile at Anakin, “I believe you to have far more friends than you can handle, at the moment, prince.”

Qui-Gon opened the gold-crested double doors for Anakin, releasing him into the dining room. Until now, the grand, decorated table had been bitterly out of use. Since Anakin’s mother had passed, there was seldom any kind of gathering that merited so many placemats. Anakin wondered how the castle workers were able to remove eight years of dust in one night.

He scoured the many seats that were available, running an index finger over the decorated, ornate ridges that lined the top of the chairs. Anakin chose a seat in the middle, one that would face Padmé. He ignored the head of the table, feeling all too peculiar about taking the seat he’d last seen his mother sit in. His palms went clammy at the thought of her; he wished that she could be his side more than anything, that night.

“Princess,” Anakin said, standing up immediately as Padmé entered the room.

She looked stunning, not to Anakin’s surprise. She wore a long, pink dress that showed off her arms, making them look soft and dipped in glitter. He smiled at her, offering his hand across the table and pressing a cold kiss to her knuckles. She sat down at the seat facing Anakin, General Kenobi following closely behind and sitting next to her.

Anakin sat back down at his seat, awkwardly. He’d grown taller and bigger than he’d liked, which meant he struggled finding places that his arms did not feel cramped. He thought it was quite un-prince-like of him. Padmé and Obi-Wan filed into their seats and exchanged a quick whisper. Anakin felt a smooth pang of jealousy, though unsure who the jealousy was placed for.

Conversation presumed as normal, exchanging formal pleasantries about their nights. Obi-Wan kept quiet, as though he was merely a statue on the wall instead of a person at the table.

“Would you tell me about your childhood, your highness?” Padmé asked, pulling a glass of water up to her perfectly lined lips.

Anakin laughed into his cup of water. Not at all that his childhood was a topic of humor, but more that he always found the subject of his late mother as the most interesting of dinner conversations.

He held up the empty wine glass in front of him, imagining that he would need more than just water to get through the night. One of the cooks quickly filled it halfway with a dark red liquid. Anakin shot a quick glance at general Kenobi, who was still clad in his gold and white uniform.

“My mother raised me in the firm belief that fathers were not necessary figures of the household. She was a fine queen and an even better mother.” he brought the glass up to his lips and took a sip. “Though, passed away when I was very young.”

Obi-Wan awkwardly folded his hands together in front of them, Anakin couldn’t help but imagine what they looked like underneath his gloves. He questioned if his knuckles went white when his hand was in a fist, if scars decorated his fingertips.

“I’m so sorry my lord,” Padmé quipped in her bird-like princess voice. She couldn’t help but be good and genuine in everything she did.

“It’s all well princess, I have grown well and passed it. There was a lovely funeral I remember fondly,” Anakin said, Obi-Wan folded his hands tighter.

Anakin took another sip, his gaze still locked onto the young General. He thought, for a moment, that Obi-Wan had been looking at him. He should’ve, if Anakin was talking about his mother’s funeral. He’d expected some sort of physical reaction from Obi-Wan, something to signal to Anakin that he’d _without a doubt_ been the boy at the top of the castle.

“I believe your General was there,” Anakin said, already feeling a light dizziness grow in his head. Obi-Wan set his glass on the table. The tension at the dinner was so palpable Anakin could have taken a knife and popped it like a bubble.

“I beg your pardon, your highness,” Obi-Wan replied, with more words than Anakin had heard him use in his entire time at the castle. It threw a bolt into Anakin’s throat, hearing the young General call him by his title.

“You heard me correctly, General, I believe I met you once my mother’s funeral reception, unless I am to be wrong,” Anakin said, continuing to drink. He could feel the panic that was no doubt settling into Qui-Gon from all the way across the castle.

Obi-Wan looked over at Padmé as if to ask for permission from the princess to reply to Anakin.

“I apologize, you must have me mistaken, Prince Skywalker,” Obi-Wan said, his accent thick and smooth like velvet, “I am a soldier, I’m afraid I’d never be invited to the funeral of a queen.”

Anakin felt a burning rage pill inside of him under the burning lens of Obi-Wan’s eye contact.

_Or was it something else_?

He wondered, his chest fluttering like a caged bird. He took another drink.

“The apology is all mine, General Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he replied, careful to enunciate every vowel, as though to signal to the General that he knew he was lying. Anakin was never wrong and would especially not be wrong about something like this.

The rest of the dinner carried on awkwardly, as Padmé would attempt to make conversation and Anakin would deflect it immediately. He’d never caved like this before, but under the undying attention of the Naboo royal circle, he couldn’t help but neglect up every word that came through his mouth.

Despite his interaction with Obi-Wan during the middle of the meal, he found himself undeniably drawn to the young General. He watched him eat, drink, breathe.

Anakin wondered, carelessly, how it felt to be the wine at the back of the General’s throat.

He pushed his knees together under the table, foolishly fearing that anybody could read his thoughts.

“Tonight was quite pleasant, prince. Will I be in your presence tomorrow?” Padmé asked, standing at the double doors with Anakin.

The dinner had not been as pleasant as Anakin had hoped. However, any moment was made infinitely sweeter in Padmé’s presence. Anakin breathed in a long sigh of her perfume and took the Princesses’ hand, doing his best to rip his mind away from her young General.

“Tomorrow princess,” he replied, bringing her small fingers up to his mouth.

He liked Padmé, there was no doubt concerning his affections for her. She was beautiful and kind, it was only the fault of Anakin that he be so distracted at the company of her General. He heard a quick shut of one of the back doors to of the dining room, Obi-Wan’s absence already penetrating the room.

Padmé smiled at Anakin as she left down the hallway, her pretty teeth peering through an utterly tiny mouth. Anakin watched her leave, and not to look at her any longer, but to realize exactly the moment he could go looking for Obi-Wan.

Anakin searched the hallway for any sight of him, feeling foolish beyond his years that he couldn’t locate someone in his own castle. He nearly gave up his search for Obi-Wan when he caught the feintest smell of his cologne. It was enough to stop him in his tracks; the dark, cedar and amber smell that he recognized from his childhood. He’d stopped in the middle of one of the corridors when the General peered around the corner, stopping in place as well when he saw Anakin.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin blurted out, the wine having obviously gone to his head for not referring to him by his formal title.

He pressed a few fingers to his forehead, a headache already brewing. Anakin stepped on his coat as he approached closer to the general.

“Tell me you remember me, I know you do,” Anakin breathed, heavily.

Obi-Wan looked around, careful to check if Padmé or anybody of the sort was nearby. He walked toward Anakin, soon enough only a few inches away from his face. Obi-Wan was always taller, in Anakin’s mind. He’d taken off his gloves since dinner, Anakin had to stop himself from staring at the General’s hands.

“I-“ Obi-Wan stopped, closed his mouth and looked down at his shoes. Anakin was careful to keep his breath soft and quiet at his apparent closeness. “I haven’t the faintest your highness, my greatest apologies.”

“I don’t believe you,” Anakin remarked, the disguise of angst and frustration fading at Obi-Wan’s closeness. In anger he’d pushed a hand up against the wall next to Obi-Wan’s face and cornered the General, close enough to feel the heat of his body. Anakin suddenly felt a pool of anxiety rise at the bottom of his stomach, as he realized how close he was to the general.

“My apologies general,” Anakin replied, backing away. quickly His leather shoes clicked on the hardwood floor in the obvious, painful silence they shared. “The wine must have gotten to my head.”

Obi-Wan curled his fingers into a fist and then uncurled them, Anakin watched painstakingly. The General walked towards Anakin’s direction but not to him, undoubtedly, to retire to his bedroom for the night.

“The apology is mine. Goodnight, Prince,” Obi-Wan said, finally.

However, as he walked away, Obi-Wan’s knuckles softly brushed Anakin’s hand. Anakin quietly gasped, feeling his stomach tie into a series of sailor’s knots. It had only been for a moment, a quiet, fleeting second where their hands were touching, but a moment, nonetheless. Ungloved, warm and rough.

He listened to Obi-Wan’s steps as he walked up the stairs and to his quarters, leaving Anakin alone in the sepia-tinted nighttime of the castle. He lifted his right hand, the one that Obi-Wan had brazenly touched and held it to his lips. And thought, perhaps, he had passed away and was doomed to an eternity of standing in the space where he had first touched Obi-Wan’s hand.

-

The country of Tatooine on a late summer’s day was Anakin Skywalker’s favorite kind of afternoon. It was hot, warm enough for him to roam the castle grounds. He often did this alone, or with Poe. However, today was the exception. He walked the gilded hedge mazes with Padmé Amidala today.

The white sun bounced off her shiny hair like a reflection in water, she wore an orange dress that draped off her shoulders and down to her feet. Prettiest of all, he thought, were the small, golden rhinestones that glittered her eyelids.

Anakin thought she was beautiful; and she was the undeniable object of everyone’s affections had it not been for the quiet footsteps of General Kenobi.

The two had not spoken since their encounter after dinner. Anakin, in fact, had seldom even made eye contact with the young General. He couldn’t, lest he be burned into a pit of ashes at the mere flinch of Obi-Wan’s eyesight. For whatever reason, Anakin couldn’t breathe as long as he was in Obi-Wan’s presence. A man he’d not even known for all of one week.

Yet, he could not escape the memory of being eleven years old and a young, dashing Obi-Wan telling him about his training. From Anakin’s adolescence, the ever-persistent figure of a Knight in shining armor took the figure of a beautiful, blonde, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He couldn’t let himself revel in the fairy-tale of it all. There would be no happy ending. Not while the General persistently stood a solid five-foot distance from the prince, and not while he was engaged to the Princess of Naboo.

Anakin Skywalker did not know, however, the blip of danger he stood in on the sunniest day of the year. Anakin reached over to a rose bush, looking for a flower to give to Padmé. Danger, a man in the shadows, moved forward as Anakin found himself blissfully unaware, and his back seemingly unwatched.

He drew his bow and pointed it directly at Anakin.

“ _Prince_!” Cried out Obi-Wan in desperation, as the General had spotted the man right as they’d shot a steel, sharp arrow in Anakin’s direction. Devoted to keeping him safe, Obi-Wan threw his body toward the young Prince, tackling him to the ground as the arrow shot right above them and into a neighboring tree.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, his hands shaking in adrenaline. Obi-Wan had saved him, he’d been _attacked_.

“Th- thank you,” Anakin stuttered, finding it difficult to get a word out. Obi-Wan, who’d still had Anakin’s wrists pinned to the ground, looked back at the Prince, eyes fearful but relieved that Anakin was okay.

“Of course, my Lord,” Obi-Wan said, also finding it difficult to speak normally in the light of current events.

Though Anakin had only been inches away from a bloody, arrow-wrought death, the one persistent thought on his mind did not sit with the attacker.

His brain did not collect in fear over the fact that he’d almost just been killed, or if he was still in danger. Unfortunately, _obviously_ , the ever-present object of his impervious thoughts was with how close Obi-Wan had been to his lips, and the fire-catching feeling of the General’s fingers holding tight to his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it and you want me to continue :) Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: stanakin96.tumblr.com


	3. Gold Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin become much closer, and Anakin has a proposition for the young General, one that will make it much harder to stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gorgeous! I'm here to stay this time <3

Obi-Wan hadn’t given much thought to how he’d die.

He knew one thing for sure, however. He’d die in the arms of whoever he was protecting.

It was his station in life to serve, he knew this indisputability. Holding Prince Skywalker after throwing him to the ground in light of an arrow-wrought plot to kill him, Obi-Wan wondered if he’d finally realized the pair of arms he’d die in.

Obi-Wan quickly picked himself up off the Prince and held out his palm. Anakin, flushed and warm, took his hand. Even with his gloves on, Obi-Wan felt a certain jolt of electricity as their fingers met.

“Are you alright?” Padmé quipped, rushing to Anakin’s side in a panic, the prince’s eyes still glued onto the young General.

“Only because of your General,” Anakin remarked, placing his hand on top of hers, “thank you,” he said, his voice seeming to catch on his vowels.

Obi-Wan bowed to Anakin, “with your permission, Prince, I’d like to inform your forces about the attack and implement safety precautions about the castle.”

“All due respect, General,” Padmé started, “I’d feel far safer if Anakin had you by his side.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, for all his time spent avoiding Anakin Skywalker, he seemed to spend a great amount of time with him. He watched as the young Prince assigned a nearby soldier to Padmé.

“Yes Princess,” Obi-Wan replied as Anakin walked to his side.

Obi-Wan caught a whiff of the prince’s cologne, the same way as he had when he was on top of him. If the color of gold had a scent, Obi-Wan imagined that would be what Anakin smelled like. It made it all the harder to face the prince or look him in the eyes. They walked in silence, palpable like a thick rain between the two when prince Skywalker put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm.

“I-“ Anakin started,

“My L-“ Obi-Wan interrupted, embarrassingly. In all his years of training he’d never been so brazen as to speak at the same time as his superior. Anakin’s face went soft, warm even.

“You first, General,” Anakin said, seeming completely unconcerned for his own safety, that he’d just been attacked. Obi-Wan composed himself, he stood up straight.

“I must insist, your grace,” Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin folded his arms together and tucked his hands into the folds of his clothes. He wore a dark purple day coat that anybody could tell was created exactly for him. His height, strong arms, and large wrists were all inconveniences to any tailor - but to Obi-Wan - they were the parts of the prince that kept him up at night.

“I wish no animosity between the two of us. Especially after you’ve saved my life. I am sorry once more for the way I acted at dinner a few nights ago.” Anakin said, his voice at far more of a whisper than usual, his stance close and personal.

“My Lord, I should remind you once more that the apology is all mine,” Obi-Wan replied, unsure how to proceed, and wishing that he had a helmet covering his face. Anakin went silent for a moment to do what appeared to Obi-Wan as prepare himself.

“I would feel far safer if you would do me the honor of, for the foreseeable future-“ Anakin inched a step closer, the subtle click of his shoes raking a strange shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“Serve as my personal security, until this is all sorted out. Nothing terribly interesting, just escorting me to and from locations in the palace, at my side, General.” Anakin finished. He was a prince, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not that Obi-Wan would ever think about declining.

“It should be my honor your highness,” Obi-Wan replied, knowing that every syllable was true.

He wondered how it felt to be Anakin’s reflection. How it was to be the object who got to look

at the unveiled version of the prince.

_The flicker in his eye could spin gold._

“Escort me to my quarters so I may gather myself?” Anakin asked, raising his eyebrow and taking a step away from Obi-Wan, letting his hand fall off where it had been perched on his shoulder. Obi-Wan fought to catch his breath.

_Perhaps everybody who is touched by a prince feels like this_ , Obi-Wan thought.

“Of course, your grace,” he said, bringing himself back to attention and composure. He swiftly followed behind Anakin, careful not to stare at any part of him for too long. The wrinkles of fabric over his back, the folds of his sleeves that almost touched his fingers.

“Did I not ask you to escort me at my side my Lord?” Anakin asked, softly, no tone of demand in his voice. “I should appreciate it greatly if it does not cause you any discomfort.”

“Yes, my apologies, your grace,” Obi-Wan replied, a quiet laugh in his voice as he moved to Anakin’s side, “nobody has addressed me as such in years.”

_My Lord_.

Anakin smiled a wide, elegant grin at Obi-Wan; with just enough teeth to make anybody’s skin cold.

“In your words, my apologies, then, General” teased the prince, folding his arms behind his back and threading his fingers together.

The air of him was _so_ royal and _utterly_ convincing that nobody existed in the universe but the two of them that the general could barely stand to look him in the eyes for more than a moment. Never before had he been caught so off guard, and as a _General_ no less.

Anakin stopped in front of a pair of tall, grand doors, large like the ones in the palace in Naboo, Obi-Wan thought.

“If you wish you could wait outside my chambers,” said Anakin, with a polite smirk that Obi-Wan could feel everywhere around him.

“Your highness, after you dismiss me, I will be informing your royal guard about additional safety precautions to be taken about the palace.”

Obi-Wan smiled and took a step closer to Anakin. He wasn’t entirely sure what the warm fire that grew with every given moment between the two of them meant, only that he was quite capable of playing along. Obi-Wan looked around briefly to be sure they were alone before taking another step closer, revealing the winning cards he’d kept so close to his chest in wonder of Anakin.

“Unless you should like me to save your life a second time,” Obi-Wan said, soft like a whisper, so the prince would have to listen very closely to hear him. Anakin opened the door to his room with a click, slipping on foot in but keeping his eyes glued to Obi-Wan.

“Perhaps not today, _my lord_.”

-

It did not take very long for Obi-Wan and a patrol of guards to locate Anakin’s attacker. Motivated as Obi-Wan was before to catch anybody who would shoot near Padmé, he felt a new, burning fire of protection for the prince as of late. So much so that he felt less like a General and far more like a bloodhound looking for him. Had it not been for all his training and the calming presence Qui-Gon Jinn, Anakin’s guards would have had to pry the criminal out from underneath Obi-Wan’s fists.

“General Jinn,” said Obi-Wan, holding out his hand to shake the older, taller man’s, “though we find ourselves in dire circumstances I am glad to be serving with you.”

“And I, General Kenobi. Have we met before?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan found himself continuing to struggle keeping composure knowing that the fate of the criminal would be going to the dungeons to soon be questioned.

“I am sure we have not,” Obi-Wan replied, avoiding the eye of Qui-Gon.

A silence filled only by chirping birds and the gravel at their feet fit the space in between the two knights.

“You’ve never met anybody like him, I’m sure,” said Qui-Gon, standing taller than any man had ever stood. Obi-Wan didn’t have to ask to know who exactly he was talking about.

“I’m afraid I’ve never met anybody like Prince Skywalker,” said Obi-Wan, “he’s quite special.” He finished, careful not to say too much. Though, all he could think of was to say much, much more.

Not a week had passed since Obi-Wan’s arrival to Tatooine, and yet, he found himself convinced of something so undeniable that he thought, perhaps, it could be written. He’d found out that the gold-spinning, center of attention, reckless prince Skywalker would be the arms he’d die protecting.

And if such a thing were to be true, and as sure as he was that it would be, the young prince would eventually learn what was true about Obi-Wan. It was the very least of what he was owed.

Truth – delicious and deceitful as it would surely be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it :) 
> 
> follow me on tumblr! : stanakin96.tumblr.com


	4. Evermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a midnight meeting between the prince and the general, Anakin finds himself thinking, and perhaps imagining visions of Obi-Wan in ways that a prince should not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys :) thanks for reading :) thank you for such an incredible response to my last chapter :)

Such an afternoon was meant to be met with happiness and bliss for the young prince and his soon-to-be-bride. However, as Anakin sat in the grass-covered fields, low afternoon sun beaming over him and Padmé, he couldn’t help but ignore a certain penance of pain he felt he owed to his body in light of the events that had occurred that day – and not those of his attempted murder.

“Are you still thinking of the attack on your life your grace?” Asked Padmé so sweetly.

“Yes princess,” Anakin replied, tiny lies dirtying his teeth like coffee stains.

He thought of Obi-Wan. His blond hair. The way his armor felt pressed against him. His fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“There is nobody better than General Kenobi. I shall promise you he will not fail,” she assured him, though her sentence brought him nothing but a slight and embarrassing version of pain. Anakin was a prince, mourning over a love he’d never received from a knight who did not even remotely remember him.

“Did you always want to be a princess, your grace?” Anakin asked, looking at Padmé, orange bouncing off her dark brown hair. She looked down at her shoes as though to be ashamed of herself.

“If you must know, I once fancied myself a senator, a diplomat instead, your grace” she finished. Pecks of pretty little teeth and a bright smile widened her face. Anakin felt a pang in his heart for her, in the same way he felt when he looked at Poe. Like they’d touched the same olive branch or shared in the same memory. A friendly sun warmed the top of his head like a thin-ringed halo.

Though, his heart fell into his stomach when he thought back to Obi-Wan. How it was, in fact, not at all how he felt for Padmé.

“I believe you’d be a great senator, princess,” Anakin said, quietly, the warm and good feelings fleeing from his body indefinitely. If all he could feel for his wife was friendship and admiration, he’d be destined to be a most miserable husband. He brought his fingers up to his forehead as a surge of pain radiated through his skull, a reaction to anxiety he’d experienced since childhood. He stood up and helped the princess up.

“My apologies, princess, I must be off. I don’t feel well. Shall I see you tomorrow?” He asked, feeling as crooked as a pirate. 

Padmé quickly nodded her pretty head and wished him well, unknowing of how desperate Anakin was to brush the feeling of pain and deception off of him, like ash from a fire he’d started at their feet.

-

Late-night had fallen over Skywalker castle when Anakin finally woke from his headache-induced sleep. He wasn’t sure of the time or how long he’d been asleep. All he remembered was the faint feeling of sheets wrapping around him and the pounding of migraine as he fell into sleep.

He sat up slowly and tasted the chap of his lips, how dry his mouth was. He peeled off the sweat-covered shirt he wore above his underclothing as he felt himself pare back to reality. The moon bounced off his skin that always felt so new and raw after a headache. 

Moments like this made him miss childhood, where he knew if Qui-Gon had been present, he would take him to the kitchen and prepare him a cup of tea that would soothe him back to sleep. Deciding he was well and capable enough to do the same by himself, Anakin, dressed only in his undershirt and pants headed to the door to the kitchen. However, when he opened the door, he found himself feeling quite underdressed.

“My prince-“ said Obi-Wan, waiting for him outside his door. “I hope you shouldn’t mind. I was informed of your malady and I thought perhaps I would wait outside your chambers until I could be sure of your safety and wellbeing.”

“Thank you general,” said Anakin, unclear of just what else he was supposed to say and only aware of a slight giddiness that brewed inside of him. The mere presence of the general had that effect on him.

“Would you join me for tea, my lord?” Anakin asked, smiling weakly, careful not to tempt his headache’s return.

Obi-Wan, the general in white and gold, smiled back. The pair walked in a comfortable silence as though they’d known each other for a decade down the corridor to the kitchen area. Anakin found himself listening to the sounds of his armor, the subtle clicks and slinks that he would hold onto when the general wasn’t around. Remembering exactly how Qui-Gon prepared the tea, Anakin began the process the moment they entered the kitchen.

“Your Grace, I won’t have you preparing tea for me, I should sooner-“ Obi-Wan started.

“You have done me a great service general; this is the very least I can do for you,” Anakin finished, looking back up at him, feeling his skin going warm. A moment or two of silence passed before Anakin passed the older man his cup and sat down at the opposite side of a wooden table from him. He took a sip and it immediately seemed to soothe his pain, though, a question still rang in his brain like a baby’s rattle.

“Does pain last forever general?” Anakin asked, wondering how, perhaps, he had grown to be so candid with General Kenobi. He set his cup of tea down on the table and brought his warm hands to the temples of his head, the heat ringing notes of peace to his headache. Obi-Wan thought about his response, long and languid.

“Some pains do, others not as much,” Obi-Wan started, taking a sip of his tea, “why do you ask, your grace?”

“I fear my pain might follow me a lifetime, like a shadow,” Anakin said, thinking to the emptiness of Padmé’s pretty hand in his. How it hurt him to look at her purity while the inkling of darkness dirtied the inside of his fingernails.

He avoided looking at the general, fearing that Obi-Wan had magic, and was able to peer through very depths of his soul. See the truth of what Anakin concealed before he, himself, even knew what he was hiding. He wished that Obi-Wan would move closer to him, and perhaps they could share the moment, together, instead of apart.

“I am quite sure the princess will be a fine wife, your grace,” said Obi-Wan, reaching his hand out into the middle of the wooden table as a truce.

“And I am quite sure I will be a miserable husband, my lord!” Anakin yelled, pushing his fingers on top of Obi-Wan’s.

And it was sure to happen so quickly.

The sharp inhale of Obi-Wan’s breath. The red flush of Anakin’s face. The warmth of the tips of his fingers brushing the inside of Obi-Wan’s. The flushing of their knuckles. Each man jerked away as quickly as the other, though, each man wished just as much that they had not.

“My sincerest apologies-” Anakin started.

“There is no need for apologies my prince,” Obi-Wan said, Anakin couldn’t help but wonder why he was catching his breath.

_ My Prince. _

Anakin reveled in the title like a hot bath filled to the brim with lavender. Like he belonged to something beautiful, delicate, and picked from the earth. He took a sip of his tea as to cover his smile.

“If you’d elect to finish your tea and sleep a whole night’s rest perhaps you would feel less pain, your grace,” Obi-Wan said, eyebrow raised, a playful sarcasm peeking through his voice.

“Will you stay my lord?” Anakin asked so suddenly, before he could stop himself.

The night was late. The sun would be rising within a matter of hours and Obi-Wan had not been dismissed to rest. Anakin was well aware that he was keeping the General awake and felt badly about forcing him to stay. He felt even more pitiful, embarrassed even, that he had asked him such a childish question.

“Until the pain goes away, my prince,” said Obi-Wan, in what appeared to be the warmest look Anakin had ever seen from the general, pinches of stars reflecting in his eyes.

After hours that felt like minutes of the two sharing a cup of tea together, Anakin finally retired to his bed chambers and dismissed Obi-Wan to sleep for the night. However, even after the soothing tea, the prince found himself wide awake.

Anakin laid in bed and wondered what it would be like to touch more of Obi-Wan’s skin, to run his fingers over the places he’d not seen.

The bone of his wrist, the blue and green veins of his forearm that crept up to his bicep. The prince felt his face grow warm as he imagined his hands grazing up the general, further and further. To his bare shoulder, in between the blades of his back, the strong places, the quite  _ bare _ places.

He pulled the satin sheet into a tight grip in between his fingers as to not dig into the palm of his hand. Obi-Wan, the boy with the wicked smile who wanted to be a knight had lived as a permanent fixture in his mind all throughout his life, years he would not soon receive back.

And the very image of that fixture, the statue of that memory carved out like Achilles in marble, stood outside his chambers in a suit of armor. Strong like a wind. White and crystal-clear like sand. Anakin sucked in a deep breath of air as he felt his body go hot and tense, tempting him to think about something he wouldn’t dare to.

_ Hot breath against his neck. Strong arms wrapped around his waist. _

The warmth crept lower and lower the more he tried to push the thought away, so the young prince imagined, perhaps, the only way to be rid of the feeling was to give it a name.

_ I wish for the General to touch my skin again _ , Anakin thought, in silence, still so wary that someone could hear him.

Such a thought only brought more heat to his body, as though he’d been standing in front of a fireplace for hours and hours.

Desperate not to think of the general, his callused hands on his skin, he thought he might take a portion of sleeping medication. Anakin feared that if he couldn’t manage to sleep within the next hour he’d go looking for Obi-Wan, who, he feared would only send him away.

However, when Anakin looked over to his side table, he laid eyes on a pillow in a chair, adorned in gold and white patterns that he thought looked just a hint like the general’s armor. Feeling his breath go heavy at the mere sighting of anything like the Obi-Wan, he picked up the pillow and held it tight to his chest, and buried his face into the fabric.

Perhaps his wish was not meant to come true.

Though, Anakin, daring as he’d ever been with the taste of chamomile on his lips, imagined the general next to him, touching his body.

He held one hand tight to the pillow but released the other to his bare chest and rested his palm down lightly. Anakin dragged his fingers over his ribcage and collarbones, bringing chill bumps all over his body, and pretended. He wouldn’t dare go lower, but the simple, feather-light touch of the general he imagined wrought out a certain level of desperation the prince had never felt before. After a few moments of such touch, Anakin felt himself go dizzy and lightheaded, though he had done nothing more than lay his fingers on his chest.

Perhaps his last meeting with Obi-Wan would be one heaven-sent moment, an open and shut mystery of a knight and a prince. However, as Anakin held the pillow close to his chest, he couldn’t help but imagine that, perhaps, he held the stranger from Naboo. The one he’d met before on the top of the palace when he was just a boy.

That he had been so lucky, once more, to touch the general’s skin again. Anakin dug his fingers into the soft fabric and lulled himself into a dangerous sleep, filled to the brim with unattainable dreams. He couldn’t help but fear that such a pain would, in fact, follow him for a lifetime.

And perhaps imagining would have to be enough, for now.

Though, in the candle-lit darkness of the hallway outside the prince's chambers, the moonlight peered through a window and onto a general, leaned against a wall with a hand pressed to his forehead. Feet away from the bed Anakin tossed and turned in, the knight Obi-Wan Kenobi was imagining the young prince, too. His skin, his body; the way Anakin smelled and felt and touched; just as well, and just as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you'd like :)
> 
> btw I'll be updating on fridays now!
> 
> follow me on tumblr!: stanakin96.tumblr.com


	5. Bad Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for a royal, romantic ball take place in Skywalker castle to welcome the guests from Naboo. Obi-Wan forms a special connection with one of Anakin’s military guards, and has to remind himself, _Princes don’t dance with Knights_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and thanks for reading :) <3

Beautiful tapestries, all ranging from gold to rose to white were being hung about the castle while Obi-Wan made his way to the military chambers to meet Qui-Gon Jinn. A ball was taking place later that evening, one to welcome the guests from Naboo, and he and the General were to meet to discuss the security of the castle.

While he enjoyed following Anakin around from meeting to meeting, his utmost priority was keeping the young prince safe.

After all, an attack had been made on his life not but a few days ago. Though the attacker had since been “ _taken care of_ ” according to Qui-Gon, (Obi-Wan trusted this man with such duties), he couldn’t help but remain in a place of constant anxiety concerning Anakin’s safety. He and the prince had become closer, far deeper, since the attack. Obi-Wan felt his stomach churn at the thought of any more than a person shaking the prince’s hand tonight at the ball, nonetheless, _dancing_ with him.

“General Kenobi,” called Qui-Gon, a voice that commanded nothing but the utmost, immediate attention. He was, perhaps, the tallest man Obi-Wan had ever met and made everyone in the room feel aware of this fact. Qui-Gon spoke quietly because he did not need to speak loudly for others to listen quite closely.

“I assume the preparations for tonight’s security are up to your standards,” he put a giant hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel a jolt of intensity at the touch.

“What should that imply, General?” Obi-Wan asked, walking into the foyer with Qui-Gon, where tablecloths were being draped over marble and the such. The ballroom was beginning to look like a vision from a dream.

“I have heard of your reputation, you’ve made quite a name for yourself,” Qui-Gon started, stopping at a table of white roses in the center of what would soon be a fountain display, the same color of the base of Obi-Wan’s armor.

Qui-Gon softly touched the edges of the rose petals, Obi-Wan swallowed. The sight of such large, strong fingers touching something so delicate seemed entirely too intimate and delicate to witness in broad daylight. Though, a part of him felt privy to something special, as his skin began to warm.

“A shame they’ll have to be discarded, the roses,” Obi-Wan remarked, quite aware of the ways in which men communicated with other men. He’d learned his lessons well and right in his training days, where Privates and Sergeants alike couldn’t seem to keep hands eyes off him. “Prince Skywalker has informed me that the flower of the night are to be lilies, not roses.”

“You ought to take a rose if you’d like,” Qui-Gon said, a sense of finality following the bass of his voice like the end of ink on sheet music, the General smiled at him. Obi-Wan hadn’t been smiled at like that in quite some time. It was a change from the constant confusion of whether or not the prince was flirting with him – here with Qui-Gon, there was nothing to be confused about.

“You have such permissions, General.”

-

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think about dancing with the prince as they heard chamber music echo down the empty hallway on their way to the ball.

He imagined how strong Anakin's waist might feel, how his rings might feel in the palm of his hands. If the prince was a pleasure to dance with or if his height and strength permitted any partner in pure awestruck of him. If Obi-Wan would melt into a pile at his feet.

“I’ve never done this before-“ said Anakin, quietly.

Obi-Wan quickly turned to him, the prince turned away before Obi-Wan could get a full look at him. “Something like this, been to a ball where someone was waiting for me, my lord.”

“You will enter after Padmé. She will wear an ornate gown, likely designed by the finest of Naboo seamstresses. Everyone will look at her because she will be the most beautiful one in the room, and everyone will look at you because you will be by her side.”

“How do you know so much? Surely, they do not teach this in military training,” Anakin remarked, looking at Obi-Wan, who smiled back at him.

“They surely do not, my prince,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling, feeling his face go warm and turning away from Anakin. They stopped at a pair of double doors as Obi-Wan raced to open them for the prince, though Anakin stood firm in waiting to enter the ballroom at the very same moment as the general.

Though, as Obi-Wan and Anakin entered the room, the truth could not have been further from what Obi-Wan had assumed.

Padmé had entered. She looked beautiful, yes. There were pale lilies with purple centers in the middle of delicate fountains, surrounded by gossiping royals sipping pink wine. The scene was painted, clear like a prophecy, though the roles were reversed. Obi-Wan fancied himself foolish for not considering that they wouldn’t be. Tall as the castle, precious as gold-

The most beautiful one in the room was Anakin Skywalker.

His hair had grown out just long enough for two strands to be braided and pulled back into a crown while the rest fell in waves. He wore a blood-red coat that dug into his shoulders, wide and muscular, making him look like a prince and a boxer all at once. He smelled like oil and perfume and he looked like diamonds. He wore a ring on every finger. He was stunning, mesmerizing. Intoxicating by the highest standard.

And he had not entered with his assumed betrothed. Anakin quickly looked down at Obi-Wan and smiled, delicately.

He’d walked into the ball with Obi-Wan at his side.

The monarchs in the floor-length gowns began to whisper to each other, their painted nails clasping hard to their glasses and spouses. Anakin leaned over and whispered into Obi-Wan’s ear.

“What shall you have me do next, my lord?” He asked, playfully. As though the entire royal circuit was not reading his lips. Obi-Wan rocked up to his toes to be closer to him, it was possibly the closest his breath had ever been to the prince’s neck, it made his entire body go warm to the touch.

“Soon you will find Princess Amidala and ask her to dance with you. After which, you will share a few dances with other members of the royal cabinet, duchesses, and such to maintain appearances since you are not yet officially betrothed, your grace.”

The pair walked forward as the clamor of the party began to grow louder. Though, the noise around them did not fool Obi-Wan. Every eye, every ear was glued to him and Anakin. After all, the two could not help how they looked together. How they walked completely in sync. The way the shine of Anakin’s coat designs reflected the gold of Obi-Wan’s formal armor, how they stood so close together their fingers could brush at any given moment.

There was no doubting the connection that tethered the two men together – the golden rope that seemed to keep them infinitely at each other’s side.

“Do you know what I wished you’d say, my lord?” Anakin asked, turning to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan turned to face Anakin, immediately met with the panic that he’d hurt the prince in any possible way. Anakin’s eyes looked hurt, filled to the brim with something that pained him to say out loud.

“It appears as though only in my wildest dreams that you might be persuaded to ask me to dance with y- “

“My prince” chirped Padmé before Anakin could continue. Obi-Wan thought, perhaps, he couldn’t feel much of his limbs anymore. She looked beautiful, her dress mirroring the pale purple accents that glittered the ballroom as though the entire night had been planned around her presence.

_Had the prince wished to dance with him?_

“Should it be so rude of me to ask for a dance your grace?” She asked, so friendly that Obi-Wan wondered if she and Anakin might have had been meeting outside of his knowledge. Anakin looked at him, serious, hardened. Not softly like he had before.

“It should be my honor, princess,” he said, taking Padmé’s little hand in his and walking away without a moment’s notice, and leaving Obi-Wan in the ashes of what he did not understand. What he could not comprehend.

_Princes don’t dance with Knights_ , Obi-Wan reminded himself in the glow of the party.

The crystal chandeliers bounced off the jewels of the people in the room – the women in gold-crested dresses and the men in morning coats. A dance area appeared, seemingly, just for Anakin, as the young and beautiful prince took his steps to the stage.

The orchestra changed speeds to a song Obi-Wan had heard many times in his life. Slow at first but built over time. Soon would come the violas to add depth, then the bass to instill conflict. After what felt like an almost impossibly long time, the violins would slow in and take the melody like a raging, unstoppable fire.

Couples poured into the stage, but as he usually seemed to have, Obi-Wan maintained a perfect view of young Skywalker. Anakin’s eyes, crystal clear as always, dug into Obi-Wan’s like fingernails into bedsheets.

Anakin began to dance with Padmé and Obi-Wan expected to lose him, drip into the mess of missing the prince that he so often felt. Though, as the music began to build, the more intently the prince seemed to stare at the general. After allowing himself what felt like the punishable offense of staring back, Obi-Wan noticed a glimmer of golden shadow underneath Anakin’s brow identical to the color of his armor.

And he found himself wondering, from the beginning of the ball to the end, why the prince would do such a thing. And why the prince continued to stare. And lastly, ceaselessly, if everyone in the room could hear the pounding of his heart under the prince’s burning attention.

-

Obi-Wan left the ball the moment he got clearance from Qui-Gon.

Half of the guests had not even left and the party was far from over, but he couldn’t stand to be in the glow of it all anymore. The fire of Anakin’s gaze had burned him, singed him to his bone. He’d left in a storm, down what seemed like an empty hallway. Though he’d walked what appeared like most of the castle with the prince during the day, he struggled to find a corner alone and in complete darkness at night.

After walking for what felt like hours, Obi-Wan found himself in the worker’s quarters, and at last, alone.

“Did you not think there was anywhere in this castle that I could not find you, general?” Asked Anakin, angrily, and only feet away from him. Obi-Wan did all but groan out loud.

“You ought to return to your guests, prince,” said Obi-Wan, turning to Anakin, who melted his heart the moment he faced him. A few strands of hair had fallen in front of his face and he was flushed from chasing Obi-Wan, though, in the barely-lit hallway of the worker’s chambers, Obi-Wan still found the prince impossibly gorgeous.

“Had you not the audacity to stare at me the entire night perhaps I would not have left in such a hurry, general.”

“Had I not the audacity, prince?” Obi-Wan started, feeling the heat of anger rise from his stomach to his chest. “If it were not for _your_ staring perhaps I may have-“

“May have what, general?” Anakin asked, angrily, stepping closer to Obi-Wan but lowering his voice. “Met someone? Danced with somebody? Perhaps you would have had a chat with Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Perhaps I should have done anything but watch you and the princess, your grace. And what on earth should Qui-Gon have to do with this?” Obi-Wan replied, now only inches away from the prince. He thought, even in anger, perhaps he should say a prayer of gratitude for his closeness to Anakin.

“I saw you two, today, in the ballroom,” said Anakin, his voice cutting like a sword.

“And should I be not permitted to speak to anybody except for you, your grace?” Asked Obi-Wan, using his words as a shield, instead.

“For God’s sake-“ Anakin pushed Obi-Wan against a wall, his other hand nearly touching his neck, his breath the closest to his face that it had ever been.

“You saved my life. We spend every moment together. Say my given name, my lord. Just once.” He whispered. All anger between the two had dissipated the moment Anakin decided to touch him.

Obi-Wan wished that he could reach out and touch Anakin, the prince he’d known for nearly no time, the prince that haunted his dreams. He’d take him by his shirt, lightly, as to not wrinkle the fabric and pull him close to his body, close enough to touch the prince’s skin. Anakin moved in closer, lowering his tall frame over Obi-Wan’s, who could now feel his breath on his lips.

“Anakin-“ Obi-Wan started, caught off guard by the closeness of the prince. One moment and he could have his fingers caught in the prince’s golden hair and his hand hugging the nape of his neck.

_I remember everything from that morning. There is much you cannot know._

“You are to be married to the princess in just months-“ Obi-Wan started, finding himself out of breath with every second that Anakin drew closer. The prince rolled his hand onto the general’s neck, tight with muscle and heat. Obi-Wan felt his heart stop beating the moment Anakin’s hand touched his skin.

“And once I am married, I shall never be able to touch you,” Anakin said, curling his fingers up closer to Obi-Wan’s face and pulling him in, closer and _closer_.

“Will you touch me now, just once, my lord?” Anakin asked, as though Obi-Wan was dreaming and he was the prince, and Anakin the knight.

Obi-Wan lightly ran his hands up the fabric of the prince’s shirt, enough to brush the skin of his collarbones and make him wish for more.

_You have such permissions, General._

Hearing Anakin’s breath go heavy, Obi-Wan moved his fingers upward and traced the outline of the prince’s jaw. Obi-Wan quickly realized that the closer he moved to the areas where the prince allowed nobody to touch him, the nearer Anakin became to him.

After thumbing circles at the base of his temple for a few moments, Obi-Wan slowly ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair.

The prince met him in response by hovering his lips over his, the closest the two had ever been, a place Obi-Wan had only imagined in his dreams. One more move and their lips would be touching. He’d tangle himself into Anakin, dig his nails deep into him. _Just once._ Obi-Wan could practically hear a light moan peppering off of Anakin’s breath as he drew the prince in. They’d still only touched, not even dared to kiss.

_Just once._

“Pardon me-“ called a low, friendly voice.

In the dark of the hallway, Obi-Wan could identify a worker, Poe Dameron. With dark, black hair and a torch in his hands. He and Anakin immediately separated upon the realization of his presence. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but miss the feeling of the prince’s skin, his heat. But as Poe approached, though his face appeared kind, Obi-Wan realized Anakin’s skin was something he might never feel again.

“General Kenobi, may I have a word with the prince?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr! stanakin96.tumblr.com


	6. Girls Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan have a midnight meeting in the gardens, and Poe informs the prince of a few realities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)

“My sincerest apologies my lord,” Anakin whispered, wishing he could reach over and grasp Obi-Wan and hold him back where he had him: sharing in the same breath, bodies in the same space. “You must take your leave of me now.”

Anakin could barely stand the way Obi-Wan looked at him, as though they were complete strangers. 

“I am not difficult to find, should you need me,” Obi-Wan stopped, Anakin thought for a short moment that the general might address him by his name, “your grace.”

Obi-Wan finished, folding his hands behind his back and vanishing into the dark into the hallway without another word. Anakin couldn’t help but gather up every moment of his absence, every piece of the general that he’d left behind. 

The young prince couldn’t help but feel that all had been ruined and could never be repaired – and all because he couldn’t be bothered to find a more private place in the castle. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and face Poe, not while the walls around him sunk to the ground. He, foolishly valiantly, and with Obi-Wan in his grip, let the young general slip away. 

-

Between Qui-Gon Jinn and Poe Dameron Anakin imagined there were no two people in the castle he regretted having an audience with more in Skywalker castle. Obi-Wan was absent from the table, as was Padmé, that morning. Such was the Sunday tradition, Poe ate with him and Qui-Gon and would never miss it. Not even if Anakin regretted his presence, it appeared.

“Well if you’re going to sit there and sigh all morning you might as well say it out loud,” Poe said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was the only person in the castle who did not address Anakin by his formal title. 

“Allow me to begin with you then,” Anakin started, turning to Poe, “what business had you following me last night? Or stopping me? We are not sixteen anymore, hardly boys looking for company anymore.”

“My apologies that we cannot all be born rich and beautiful, my prince,” said Poe, his dark eyes rolling to the back of his head in a way that was borderline flirtatious, Anakin thought. The muscle of his arms and elbow, strong from work, contrasted against the lace of the tablecloth like an old sculpture. 

“Calm down your grace-“ started Qui-Gon, before Anakin slammed his fist on the table and pointed to the General who’d raised him.

“But you are none the wiser, flirting with General Kenobi? Are you mad?” 

Anakin felt his heart lighten at the sound of Poe’s laughter in the background. He could hardly stay angry at either of them for very long. Though Poe was a worker, he’d always felt more like family to Anakin and had always been treated as such.

Qui-Gon took a sip of his coffee before replying, “where do you think you learned it from, my prince?”

All three members of the table echoed into a peal of laughter they would not soon recover from, so loudly that it made the maids uncomfortable. Though, even through such laughter, every eye in the room noticed the second Obi-Wan stepped through the door. The moment his shoes touched the ground Anakin, Poe, and Qui-Gon, were all on their feet to greet him formally.

“Do we not do this for princes _?” _ Poe whispered to Anakin, who would rear back and lightly smack him if it weren’t for the general’s all-consuming presence. 

Obi-Wan quickly met his gaze and made Anakin’s skin go warm and light. He wondered if Obi-Wan could hear the sound of his heart beating in the same way that he could. The general turned away and walked toward Qui-Gon. 

“The princess wishes to see the prince at noon,” Obi-Wan did not look at Anakin when he said this, only at Qui-Gon. Anakin couldn’t hear much else of the interaction, he didn’t care to. He continued to stay standing up, hands behind his back, chest out, eyes glued onto the young general until he exited the room. 

He could only think about how beautiful Obi-Wan looked in his armor, how he appeared as the glittering, shiny center of everyone’s attention every time he walked into a moment. Like a chandelier or the crowning jewels, there was no part of Obi-Wan that did not demand attention, there was no inch of him that did not  _ glisten _ .

Obi-Wan quickly turned to Anakin as he approached the door, just for a moment, with his hands still pulled behind his back.

“My prince,” he said, bowing, with a serious look on his face. Anakin desperately wanted to chase after him, fall at his shoes and say-

_ The apology is entirely mine, Obi-Wan. Please return to my side. _

But he couldn’t, would not. The general had since left and been gone, was now far from where Anakin was permitted to find him.

Anakin felt a new kind of pain boil from the base of his ribs to the bottom of his neck, as though someone had taken a giant, metal caging and placed it around his chest and tightened the screws. He hoped, sincerely, that his feelings for the general were a fleeting sort of thing, and that those feelings that would fly away, the same as birds do in the wintertime.

But looking at  _ him _ , Obi-Wan Kenobi, his fingers folded around each other, the cut of his hair, and the rise of his chest, Anakin feared that such feelings would have no such migration.

He turned to Poe the way a pack animal would crest to another.

“Will you help me dress for Padmé?” Anakin asked, sure that he was communicating to Poe nonverbally. Poe quickly responded and escorted Anakin down the hallway after a quick goodbye to Qui-Gon, who Anakin now felt at liberty to finally smile at. It wasn’t until he was alone in his chambers with Poe that he felt the pain of seeing Obi-Wan and barely speaking to him.

“You requested an audience with me,” Anakin threw his hands in the air now that he was with his old friend, “you have gained it.”

Poe remained silent for a moment. He picked through Anakin’s closet before laying a coat by Anakin’s dressing table. Poe looked into the same mirror Anakin saw himself in. 

“Have you forgotten what you swore me to remind you of all those years ago?” Poe walked closer to Anakin, closer than any worker or soldier ever stood to him, “I am not happy to ask you of it but I surely will.”

Anakin remembered late afternoons tucked away in the worker’s chambers in his teen years, warm and tanned in the summer sun. He remembered him and Poe taking turns reading to each other, homemade quilts and loving touches. Long, educational kisses and secret sleepovers. And at the end of it all – a promise forced onto Poe by Anakin.

“Do you wish to be king?” Poe asked. 

“Yes,” Anakin replied, remembering the warm draft of summer so well it made him sweat.

“More than anything in this world?” Poe pushed.

“More than anything,” Anakin replied, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Then what must you do?” Poe jerked Anakin by the arm and forced him to turn around, to look at him.

Anakin could recall the moment he’d put such a promise onto Poe. On the last day of their summer together, when the chill of fall was just around the corner and their time was coming to a close. Their days of fingers interlocked and close whispers were numbered from the very beginning.

“Marry a prince or princess,” said Anakin, in finality, in all sureness. One of the only truths he’d known since he was little.

“I am not forbidding you to meet with him, be you the master of your own ship completely, but sure as I am sure that you will be king, you must convince the world of such as well,” finished Poe, letting his hand fall down Anakin’s arm slowly. The prince smiled at him, remembering what it was like to be touched by his old friend, and now thinking about being touched by Obi-Wan.

“Boys like you- in your coats and rings and hair – I should be damned before I fall for another,” said Poe, “and if you are that desperate for touch and have not done anything about it on your own, then I surely have taught you nothing, my prince.”

-

Anakin ran to Obi-Wan, to where he knew he’d be, gripped him by the arms, and pressed his chest into his back. Close enough that he could smell the General’s cologne, the same one he wore every day, enough to make Anakin’s head go dizzy.

“Tonight, just as midnight falls, meet me in the garden,” Anakin curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s armor, not touching his skin but knowing in all certainty that the General could  _ feel  _ it.

“Bring me something to keep, my lord.”

-

Night loomed over Skywalker castle like a cat yawning, stretching its paws over a pillow and scratching the fabric with its fingernails. Anakin had picked out a small, ornate ruby pin to bring to the general. He didn’t ponder over it for long, the golden trim would match his disposition, it felt fitting for such a man.

He walked to the gardens unaccompanied after a quiet dinner with Padme, where he and Obi-Wan had hardly spoken a word to each other. Only stolen glances, taken looks into their palms, and hidden them in their possession.

Fall was beginning to loom over, Anakin could feel it the moment he stepped outside. Not a soul but the nesting birds dared to speak a word of such a secret meeting.

“Your grace,” said Obi-Wan, quietly, though it was enough to rattle Anakin to his core. 

“Walk with me?” He asked, though, it felt far less of a question and far more of a decree- a motion. Obi-Wan  _ moved  _ Anakin in three words or less. The prince rushed to his side, soft sounds of the end of summer murmured in the background as Obi-Wan took the forefront.

“It occurs to me I know very little about you, even still,” Obi-Wan started.

“There is not much to know my lord,” said Anakin, stepping through the dewy grass, “it is you I wish to know more of.”

“I won’t have it, my prince,” said Obi-Wan, smiling, knocking Anakin off his feet, “however, I will share if you will.”

“I have family here,” started Anakin, “none that I’m related to, only people who have watched over me since the passing of my mother.”

“I have quite a few blood relatives in Naboo, many that I miss greatly,” said the general, who turned to look at Anakin. “Do you miss her, your mother?”

Anakin felt his face go warm and his heart tight, knowing that the general had asked him something that many either feared to ask or did not mean to ask truthfully. Moments like these he missed her the most - where he wished he could ask her questions of how to act, how to be. 

“Every day my, lord,” he said, stopping in the grass and taking a step closer to Obi-Wan, “you are kind to ask genuinely.”

Obi-Wan met him by taking a step closer, as well, his body inches away from Anakin. The prince felt lucky that they were alone, but wished they were in private so he could reach out and hold Obi-Wan.

“You mistake my interest in you for kindness, your grace,” said Obi-Wan, quietly, looking up at Anakin, who’d begun to reach for the inside of his coat. He reached for the small gold and red pin and held it between his fingers.

“You mistake my interest in you for something smaller,” Anakin said, holding the pin out near Obi-Wan’s chest. The general looked at him with wide eyes, so big he could see the whites even in the dark of the night.

“I couldn’t possibly-” Obi-Wan started before Anakin reached for his hand and placed the pin inside his palm. He wanted to do more, take Obi-Wan’s hand and run with it, wrap it around his waist and feel the weight of his fingernails.

“Keep it,” said Anakin.

“I’m afraid my items for you to keep are none such as elegant,” said Obi-Wan, revealing a pale, white piece of cloth with a delicate design on the edges and a piece of folded parchment on the inside, all wrapped together by a piece of golden thread. He handed the collection of items to Anakin, who’s face had already gone red by the sheer presentation of Obi-Wan’s items, and wished he’d put more effort into his simple pin.

“My deepest thanks, my lord,” Obi-Wan slipped his hands away from Anakin, though the prince wished that he’d kept them there for longer. 

“I should return to my quarters, your grace, night comes swiftly here,” said Obi-Wan as he attempted to pull away from Anakin. 

Without another thought, Anakin gripped tightly to Obi-Wan’s wrist and pulled the general in close to his chest. Suffering under the attention of how Obi-Wan looked in the moonlight, gorgeous, tall, breathing heavily, Anakin moved his hand up to Obi-Wan's face and lightly cupped his jaw. He thought about kissing the young general but knew that they were in a far too public space. Instead, Anakin rubbed circles into Obi-Wan’s temple and tempted himself by combing through the back of the general’s hair with his fingertips.

“My apologies, I just needed another moment, my lord,” said Anakin, pulling away. 

“Then I should require one hundred moments, I’m afraid. Goodnight, prince,” said Obi-Wan, as he faded into the loom of darkness and night, leaving Anakin alone in the courtyard.

It wasn’t until Anakin was alone in his room, with Obi-Wan‘s possessions, did he fully realize what Poe’s words had meant to him. 

_ “and if you are that desperate for touch and have not done anything about it on your own, then I surely have taught you nothing, my prince.” _

He’d unwrapped the cloth, thread, and letter, and placed them all on the desk next to his bed - except the cloth. Which he now realized was a handkerchief that Obi-Wan had sprayed with a touch of his cologne and smelled exactly like him. 

Anakin was not much for shame, but he felt shameful, sitting alone in bed, nearly driven to madness just by the smell of the general. He pressed the handkerchief up to his lips and breathed in slowly, savoring every moment of Obi-Wan. The very smell of him was enough to alert the senses of his body and make him feel awake for the rest of the night. 

The lingering of cologne he’d only grown to know over a week or so had been enough to tempt him to do something more, Anakin realized, as he felt a growing heat tighten his pants and make his skin hot. He desired more than just the pleasure of the general’s company, he wanted  _ him _ , and every bone in his body knew it.

Feeling that heat and want overcome him, Anakin’s breath grew heavy, and he quickly set the handkerchief down on his night stand. 

No - Anakin Skywalker was not one for shame - but he felt shameful lulling himself to sleep, when all he wished to do was touch himself, and breathe in the end of summer, and the smell of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr!
> 
> stanakin96.tumblr.com


	7. Glitter In the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan reveals a truth about his past to Anakin in his letter, and they share a touch that leaves Anakin wanting more at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)

Anakin Skywalker, dizzy with sleep in the early morning, reached his hand over to the table beside his bed for the letter the General had written him. He’d read it for what felt like one hundred times the night previous but had to make sure, at least once more, that he’d not made every word up in his mind. The early morning rays of sun peaked in through his windows and onto the parchment, clear enough that he could see every blot of ink as though he watched Obi-Wan write it himself. He took a deep breath of air in.

__

_ My prince, _

Another breath of air in once more, he had to remind himself. 

__

_ You must first forgive me, as letter writing has never been something I have found myself gifted in. However, as the days progress, I find there are more items I wish to share with you that I find myself unable to due to our position.  _

__

_ I remember the morning of your mother’s funeral as though it happened yesterday, though I have been sworn not to diverge in the details of my attendance. I am afraid that for now, this is all I am at liberty to share – but for you – I would break through any rule placed in front of me. I apologize endlessly for not being truthful from the beginning, perhaps someday I will be able to inform you of my position that prohibits me from diverging such details. _

__

_ I was born to a large household as the eldest to a sister but was graced the gift of enough cousins to fill a small city (remaining secrets will come in time). Mercy has gifted me travel; I have seen the world around me, and much more. All of is this to say: I have seen bright fires in the black of night, seas that spanned what felt like all of the country, and mountains that belonged to the heavens; but I have never seen anything that could compare to you. I remember you, far littler than you are now, but just as brave. I remember shaking your hand and discussing with you the details of my knighthood. I remember your smile and the cold at the top of the castle. My most divine wish is to learn who you have become so that I might make up for the time lost since that day.  _

__

_ Who do you consider family? What have you seen of the world? And of all these sites – where is the place you long for the most? What feeling do you find yourself searching for? This is a question I, myself, do not yet have an answer for. I must apologize once more, my prince.  _

__

_ My wish to be in your presence has wrapped around me like ivy; relentless and growing in every waking moment.  _

__

_ I wait patiently for your reply. _

__

_ Obi-Wan Kenobi _

Anakin pressed the letter to his bare chest, hoping that perhaps the words would imprint into his body, and his blood would turn into ink. 

__

_ Obi-Wan remembered him _ . 

The young prince thought perhaps he could lie in bed all day and marvel at the newfound joy he’d discovered in his life. Though, he was interrupted by reality at the sound of a knock at the door. 

“One moment,” Anakin said, quickly hiding Obi-Wan’s possessions in a chest underneath his bed.

“I’ve seen you in less clothing than whatever you should be wearing your grace,” mocked a sarcastic Poe outside his door. Anakin rushed to open it, a frown on his face. Poe held a freshly pressed coat and shirt in his arms, his hair already combed for the day.

“Will I be masquerading as you in attendance to your event tonight?” Asked Poe, a disgruntled look on his face.

Once a year, on the eve of his mother’s birthday, Anakin opened the royal gallery to the high-art public (at the advice of his council) to auction pieces for charity projects. He furrowed his brow, it was one of his least favorite nights of the year, as he had to roam the halls that bared one too many portraits of himself. One in particular that showed every detail – the rippled scar on his face, the emotion in his eyes.

“I wish you could,” Anakin said, opening the door wide for Poe to enter, allowing him inside to help him prepare. As of now, his mentality had shifted – when there was an event at the castle, a lunch, a picnic, a ball, the general was sure to be in attendance. And wherever Obi-Wan was, Anakin found himself inevitably following. 

-

Anakin found himself smiling a good amount of the night; not because of anything entertaining, but because of Padmé’s constant giggling.

“Why do you laugh princess?” Anakin questioned, her arm draped around him as they walked in circles around the gallery, slowly. She smiled at him.

“You would not understand, you do not have any siblings, your grace,” Padmé quipped beautifully. Anakin smiled at her. 

“I can certainly try, your grace. I might be more empathetic than you assume,” he replied.

“My brother would have loved this night, all of it, your grace. Not that I do not,” she quickly turned and reassured him. “I simply find myself occasionally wishing sometimes I could trade places with him.” Padmé continued to laugh a silly, girlish laugh. Though, no matter how overcome with the fit she became, she never looked any less beautiful or composed. 

“Why is that a matter of laughter, your highness?” Anakin asked, finding himself near the edge of laughter, as well.

“The crown goes to the first-born girl, the matter is not up for discussion my prince. I laugh because it is absurd that I should inherit it, instead. The art, the music, the social niceties of it all,” She waved her small, pretty hand around the room, Anakin noticed the flecks of glitter on her fingernails. Padme gave one final giggle. “He would have been far better than I, my prince.”

Suddenly, as though he was stopped by a large, world-shattering figure, Anakin stopped in his tracks. In the corner of his eye, he’d spotted Obi-Wan, alone in the portrait room, soldier hands folded behind his back. He turned away from Padme, silent as though he was saying a prayer. Padme squeezed his arm.

“If you will excuse me, your grace, I must go dance, or I will surely die of boredom,” she said, quietly. Anakin briefly turned to face her, letting her tiny arm out of his grip.

“Of course, your highness,” it was all he could manage out at the moment. Padme smiled at him as she drifted away. 

Anakin watched from behind the pillar for as long as he could without Obi-Wan noticing his presence. He’d found the singular piece in the entire castle that Anakin surely wished he would not – a portrait painted on the evening of his eighteenth birthday. 

He waited for the general to make any move, grow tired of the portrait, and move on, and yet, he did not. Obi-Wan stood, still as any statue, and barely did as much as breathe. Anakin watched as the muscles in his back pressed through the fabric of his uniform, the slow rise and fall of his heavy shoulders, until he could not bear being in his presence without being near him any longer.

“Good evening, my lord,” said Anakin, so formally, as though the two had not once touched. As though Anakin could not remember exactly how it felt to have Obi-Wan’s hair wrapped up in his fingertips.

“Good evening, your grace,” replied Obi-Wan, taking a moment away from the portrait and turning to Anakin. The young prince fought diligently to hold onto his composure, as even the slightest of glances from the general was enough to make him weak in every bone of his body. 

“Have you enjoyed the party? I do not often display the gallery,” said Anakin leaning his body closer to the General and dipping his hand into his pocket, where his reply to Obi-Wan’s letter laid, folded delicately.

Obi-Wan smiled brightly and turned to face Anakin, who did his best not to audibly gasp at the mere sight of him, “did you choose to display such works for any reason, in particular, my prince?”

Anakin took a step closer to Obi-Wan, close enough that the general could smell his cologne, feel his warmth. 

“Charity, if you must know my lord,” Anakin said, aware of how much he was smiling, unaware of how loudly he was laughing. “I had no inclination that you were such a tease.” 

“And I have no inclination to believe that you should display such artworks as this for any reasons other than to impress and amaze someone, in particular, your grace,” replied Obi-Wan, licks of flirtatious sarcasm peaking through his every word as he stepped closer to Anakin. The young prince, while amazed at the beauty and magnetism of the general, found himself amazed at something new and unexpected: he and Obi-Wan were becoming  _ friends _ .

While Anakin could expect his attraction to the general to grow with every given day, his incredible pull to be close with him and  _ near _ him had been made all the worse by what he now understood as their budding friendship. He reached down to the letter in his pocket once more, remembering all the questions Obi-Wan had asked him. Physical attraction was enough of a dangerous game played alone, but with the addition of emotion,  _ friendship _ even, the young prince feared that his feelings for the general would soon rage like a fire – out of control, untamable. 

“I have something for you, my lord,” said Anakin, his voice now far quieter than it was before. 

Obi-Wan turned away from the painting once more to look at him, his blue eyes brightening all the dark places inside the young prince. Anakin held out the folded piece of parchment in his right hand, which Obi-Wan slowly wrapped his entire hand around. 

“You needn’t always call me that, your grace,” Obi-Wan said, though Anakin couldn’t hear a word he was saying as long as the general’s hand was touching his. Because Anakin’s hand was concealed behind his coat, Obi-Wan had threaded his fingers entirely with his. Anakin couldn’t help but remember what he once thought to be a fabricated memory of a young Obi-Wan on the top of the castle, shaking his hand at his mother’s funeral. 

Though, touching Obi-Wan now, could not have been a more different feeling; Anakin could sense the touch in every part of his body. Obi-Wan’s fingers at his neck, on his arms, on his chest. The young prince felt his throat tighten at the intimate thought of his fingers currently inside Obi-Wan’s palm. The very fact that any part of him was covered in the general was enough to keep him from breathing, from ever thinking about anything else. 

“Thank you, your grace,” Obi-Wan said, taking the letter away, along with the skin and touch that Anakin wished he could keep on him forever.

“You must forgive me, my lord,” started Anakin, averting the general’s eyes, “I must retire to my chambers for the night, I should appreciate it greatly if you did not follow me.”

As Obi-Wan raised his hand in objection, Anakin was gone from the room and the general’s sight. Had it not been explicitly for the prince’s request to not be followed, Obi-Wan would have chased after him. Instead, Obi-Wan was left, alone, in the same room as Anakin’s portrait. The general, cut to his very core by the prince’s sudden dismissal, turned to the portrait. The likeness was there, and Obi-Wan admired the painter for captivating some portion of Anakin’s beauty, though it would never capture all of it. 

As though he was in a dream where men could reach out and touch paintings and paintings could reach out and touch men, Obi-Wan brought two fingers to the portrait. He traced lightly at the scar on Anakin’s face, then his jaw, then lightly across his lips; aware that to place fingers on a painting was something unthinkable. Almost as unthinkable as laying fingers on the object of the portrait; a person far more precious and gorgeous than any oil or canvas that he should ever break the rules to touch.

-

Anakin, barely able to catch his breath, ran to his chambers without looking back to the party. He did not dare interfere with the places on himself that Obi-Wan had touched. It was as though the general had deemed them as owned pieces now, pieces of himself that Anakin would never get back. The prince drew the fingers that Obi-Wan had touched up to his lips – pieces of himself that Anakin never wanted to give to anybody else. 

Knowing that there was no conceivable way that Obi-Wan could be with him at the moment, Anakin imagined the general’s presence as though he was right in front of him. Obi-Wan would press him against the hard wall of the corridor and ask him to do something, something Anakin had not yet allowed himself to think of. Anakin found himself breathing heavily already at the mere idea of the fantasy, when he quickly realized his ability to imagine it to the fullest extent. 

The young prince closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers, the ones that Obi-Wan had touched, to the opening of his lips.

“ _ Good _ ,” Anakin imagined Obi-Wan whispering to him, pressing his own fingers up against his mouth, his other hand snaked around his waist. 

Anakin pushed the tips of his two fingers into his mouth, slowly, barely able to stay silent at the fantasy that they belonged to the general. After all, this was where Obi-Wan had  _ touched _ him, covered himself in him. Anakin pressed his fingers deeper into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around his index finger.

“ _ Very good, Anakin _ ,” he imagined Obi-Wan saying to him, pressing his body close to his. 

Anakin felt a growing gnawing at the base of his stomach pressing hard against his cock. It took all of one minute of imagining Obi-Wan’s fingers in his mouth to render him completely useless and desperate for the general’s touch. If he imagined any more than Obi-Wan’s fingers inside his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to help but touch himself.

As Anakin laid in bed, paralyzed by the simplest of interactions with the general, he knew for a fact that such fantasies as friendship, emotion, and companionship, had worsened his condition for Obi-Wan Kenobi. What brewed was no longer pure physical touch or flirtatious glances, but something deeper, more than he could imagine. He felt now that rules were broken in the name of a precious thing now, and the prince could not help but question, if the general felt the same way, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :) this one is a favorite of mine
> 
> my tumblr: stanakin96.tumblr.com


	8. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the anniversary of Anakin's mother's funeral, him and the general share a night together.
> 
> _Obi-Wan did not ask for permission the first time he held Anakin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TY FOR READING :)

Obi-Wan remembered the day of Anakin’s mother’s funeral quite well - better than he liked to admit. He thought of it when he found himself nearly forgetting. On the anniversary of the day, when it was sunny, he remembered the morning as though it had happened moments ago. 

“I think I will make a good king,” said Anakin, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen at the time, Obi-Wan thought. His feet dangling off the edge of the castle, his hair messy from the wind, Obi-Wan smiled.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, looking over at the young boy.

“I have a lot of ideas, you see,” he started, so sure for someone so young, “ideas that will make things better for people.” 

Anakin looked down at his shoes, down at the earth below him. Obi-Wan looked at the prince.

“Do you have ideas?” Anakin asked him. Obi-Wan laughed.

“I have quite a few, but I did not entirely succeed at becoming a prince,” he looked over at the young boy, tall for his age, “the rules are different where I come from, your grace.” 

Anakin leaned one of his small hands back on the gravel of the roof and remained silent. The pair looked out at the foggy sky, exchanging thoughts without having to say a word aloud. Obi-Wan, the older one, often wondered if Anakin, the younger one, had been able to read his mind at the time.

“Perhaps someday you can come back and be a prince here,” Anakin said, leaning his other hand back, balancing on nothing but his own fingers. Obi-Wan watched the prince's knuckles, his nails, and prepared to catch him at any moment - while Anakin did nothing but simply exist. The general thought to himself that not much had changed about Anakin Skywalker since he’d met him on that day. He opened the folded parchment slowly, still only able to read the first paragraph of his letter.

_ My Lord, _

_ Though I have been taught in classics, logic, and all matters of the such, I believe I have something quite fantastic and foolish to confess. I believe I have been searching for you in every person I have ever seen since the day I have met you.  _

Obi-Wan quickly folded the parchment paper and folded it away, placing it in the pocket of his coat. He placed a firm hand on the base of his neck and pressed hard in an attempt to calm what he was feeling. He knew very well he could not run to the prince, pull him into an embrace and kiss his cheeks,

_ his jaw, temples, corners of his lips. _

Obi-Wan clung tighter to his chest, hoping that he could feel his fingernails digging into his chest he could mask the pain he felt for the prince. He would be with Padme in the gardens. Touching her, no doubt. Maybe he’d cling lightly to the fabric of her dress with his fingertips, tracing upwards until he reached her shoulder. Likely bare, in the last warmth of early autumn. The general felt himself go nauseous at the thought.

Regardless, it was his responsibility to watch over the prince. He’d dismissed himself for a few minutes long enough and had to go back outside eventually. After all, he was still Anakin’s personal guard. Obi-Wan brushed off the fabric of his coat and took a deep breath, committed not to think about the prince touching the skin of someone else. 

Obi-Wan took a step into the sun, careful to only stand a few feet away from the pair, as to not make any noise of his arrival. The last thing he wanted was any attention on him, and only to serve as a guardian for the prince. However, it was hard to ignore Padme’s laugh, girlish and friendly. Obi-Wan tried not to pay attention to the conversation, but couldn’t help but feel a small burn on his skin when she heard him call the prince by his name. 

_ Anakin _ .

What he’d begged Obi-Wan to call him, what he’d only called him once, in darkness. 

The pair walked around the hedge to show themselves, both gleaming in the autumn sun. Padme’s thin arm was draped around Anakin’s shoulder. Their bodies fell close, like two flowers who had grown together, Obi-Wan took another deep breath in. It was another burn to the skin.

“Obi-Wan!” Padme exclaimed, grinning wildly, forcing Anakin up to Obi-Wan’s side. The General found it increasingly hard to breathe as they stepped any closer to him. “Will you escort us to the dining room for tea?”

Obi-Wan looked at the prince, who looked at him. Obi-Wan desperately wished he could pull Anakin aside and ask him if he was alright, as today would be impossibly hard for the prince. He could see it the moment he laid eyes on him. Though, Anakin was there and then gone far too fast for the general to cling onto.

“Of course, your grace,” replied Obi-Wan, who turned away from them both and slowly headed to the castle. 

Padme started to whisper to Anakin, secrets that Obi-Wan was not privy to. Nothing that the prince would include in his notes. 

_ Perhaps the prince is writing letters to Padme, as well.  _ Obi-Wan thought. 

The General folded his hands behind his back and straightened his spine, keeping his mouth silent as he escorted the young royalty to the dining room. While tiny, unimaginable fires burned every part of him, to his core, to his heart. It felt as though the prince held his very soul in his pocket as a toy to be taken out now and then. 

All the while, the general could not have known the way Anakin Skywalker was looking at him. Like an impenetrable force, broken by nothing at all. Like he was a marvel of the universe. Like Obi-Wan was the sky itself, as though he were of the heavens. 

-

_ My lord, you ask for the place and the feeling I search for most in my life. I find that they lie between two places. First, wherever my heart might be, and second, where I might find my mother. If I am fortunate, they should both be somewhere warm. For now, these places exist in the middle of the fading of your cologne and my mother’s old clothing. You are gracious for asking questions few have bothered to seek in my life. It makes me wish to be close to you. _

-

Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t have trusted Anakin when he dismissed him for the night. 

The prince told him that he wanted to be alone, that he had a headache. Obi-Wan returned to his chambers a few hours after the prince said so, to make sure he was okay. Finding that his room was empty would have been not as worrying on any other day, but not today. Obi-Wan checked the kitchens, the gardens, when he remembered Anakin’s letter. The anniversary of his mother’s funeral would be difficult enough, but Anakin was not of this world. He still allowed himself to feel everything that others did not. Obi-Wan rushed down the corridor to Anakin’s mother’s chambers. 

The general, caught off guard by what he saw, remained silent until the prince addressed him. An ocean of dresses, coats, and skirts covered the dusty chamber, with Anakin as the pearl in the middle of it all. 

“I wish I was smaller, my lord,” said Anakin, who did not meet Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Obi-Wan sunk to his knees, close to Anakin, unable to find a piece of ground that was not covered. The prince looked at him.

“Why is that, your grace?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Perhaps I might be able to wear some of her clothing,” Anakin replied, holding a coat in his hands, navy blue and long. The prince let it fall to the ground, where the rest of the clothing was, like a stream to the sea.

“I’m embarrassed you’ve found me like this, general,” confessed Anakin, once again looking away from him.

_ I adore you _ , Obi-Wan thought, but did not say.

“May I touch you, your grace?” He asked, instead.

“You may,” Anakin said, his voice breathy. 

Obi-Wan moved through the clothes, careful not to further wrinkle anything. Dark green, blue, and gold, covered the floor like spilled bottles of paint. He pressed a warm hand on the side of Anakin’s neck and wrapped the other around his back. As though the prince was a great ship brought to the sea by a fleet of canons, Anakin fell into Obi-Wan’s body. The prince dug his fingers into Obi-Wan’s arms and pressed his head into his chest. 

“We don’t even have to talk if you won’t have it, I promise,” said Obi-Wan. Anakin let out a quiet laugh, interrupted by the endings of a cry.

“You said that to me once,” Anakin said, slowly, remembering that morning.

“I did when we were little, your grace,” replied Obi-Wan, who pulled the prince even tighter into the embrace. Obi-Wan pressed his nose and lips into the crook of Anakin’s neck, hoping that perhaps, if he touched every inch of him, he might be able to steal away the prince’s pain. 

"You will wear her crown, my prince," Obi-Wan said, pressing every word into Anakin.

Anakin peeled himself away from the hug, slowly, and moved his hands to Obi-Wan’s chest, careful not to look the general in the eyes.

“Thank you,” Anakin whispered, resting his forehead lightly on the general’s. 

“You mentioned your mother’s clothing in your letter,” replied Obi-Wan, nearly out of breath at how close the prince was to his lips. Obi-Wan pressed a few fingers to Anakin’s jaw and brought his face to look at him, meeting him with a smile.

“Shall we gather something to remember of her, your grace?” Obi-Wan asked, 

Fond of the idea, Anakin stood, and moved towards a small, golden box on the vanity and rushed through it. Obi-Wan, unsure of where he belonged in the grand room, walked around, careful not to step on any of the clothing.

Obi-Wan imagined the prince, alone and remembering, tearing through his mother’s closet. He could feel the prince’s pain, his grief, in every piece of fabric that tinted the floor. The general wished he’d been there. Obi-Wan wished nothing more than to turn to the prince, wrap his arms around him and confess - 

_ I should have been there. I'm sorry. _

Instead - the prince turned to him, a smile on his face. 

“Will you do the honor, my lord?” Asked Anakin. 

Obi-Wan lightly pinned a small broach to Anakin’s chest, careful not to tug the fabric of his shirt too much. He did not want to disturb the fabric, knowing what such things meant to Anakin. He managed to clip it with ease, and soon, no longer had an excuse to place his hands on the prince’s chest. Obi-Wan kept them there, nonetheless. 

“Take me to my chambers, my lord?” Asked Anakin. 

“I should never be persuaded to let you out of my sight again, your grace,” Obi-Wan replied.

-

The dark ink of night peered through the windows of Skywalker castle. The moon waned in the distance, providing so little light that the two men were barely shadows as they walked through the corridors. It was enough of a disguise that when Anakin placed a few fingers underneath Obi-Wan’s collar and asked him to  _ come inside _ : the general did not refuse. The prince shut the door behind him.

Anakin stepped closer to him and placed a hand on the back of his neck, threading his fingers through the back of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“Kiss me, my lord, I should wish for nothing else in the world,” Anakin whispered. Obi-Wan pressed his fingers into Anakin’s chest, breathless at the feeling of his tough muscle through the thinness of his shirt. 

“My dear prince-” he started, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He pulled Anakin down to his height, “you are to be married.”

_ My dear prince _ . 

It was certainly not anything he’d called anybody before. It would be a title that would only ever belong to Anakin. Prince of slammed doors and golden rings. Wavy hair, beautiful things. Another moment of Obi-Wan’s life that he could not breathe. 

“Yet you are here and my betrothed is not,” Anakin said, digging his fingers into the small of Obi-Wan’s back and pulling the general in close to his chest. Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling the sudden heat of Anakin’s skin, the heaviness of his breath. He hooked his fingers under the buttons of the prince’s shirt, knowing that he was giving into something he had fought ardently against. 

_ “ _ Anakin-” Obi-Wan whispered, placing a warm kiss on Anakin’s right temple. The prince dug his fingers deep into the general’s clothing. 

It felt indulgent to say his name, like the act of it was more delicate than a wedding veil or a lace curtain, gossamer and translucent.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, again, pressing a warm kiss to Anakin’s left temple. The places he’d dreamed about kissing him this morning.

“Please,” Anakin said, his voice wavering like Obi-Wan had never heard before. 

“ _ Anakin- _ ” whispered Obi-Wan, like he was reciting something precious. Obi-Wan dragged another kiss, longer, along the prince’s jawline. Obi-Wan pulled the prince in one last time, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, close enough to his lips that it would surely drive them both to madness.

Obi-Wan could kiss Anakin's lips, long and hard, knowing within himself that it would surely lead to more. Wrinkled bed sheets and raw skin - but knew the moment was not right. The moment called for something softer, not shrouded by the cloud of sadness. The general would never forgive himself for taking advantage of the prince in his grief. Obi-Wan thought back to a piece of the letter he’d read - something that stayed with him.

_ Though I find myself endlessly wondering what it would be like to kiss your lips, I find myself more often dreaming of your arms. How it would feel to be wrapped inside of them and held by you.  _

Obi-Wan did not ask for permission the first time he held Anakin. 

Instead, he rocked onto the top of his toes and threw his arms around the prince. Though Anakin was larger than him, his back wider, his stance taller, Obi-Wan felt the prince fold into him, as though they were always meant to be this way. It was different than touching Anakin on the floor of his mother’s room, this was holding him, it was like touching for the very first time. The veil of mystery that seemed to cover their relationship was not lifted, only covered in more fog, the longer Obi-Wan did this. 

“Stay here until I sleep my lord,” Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan could not say out loud what he was feeling. He would not allow himself to. There was a word that came to mind that did not yet belong. That would never dawn between a prince and a knight. One syllable. Four letters. Two more months and Anakin would be married, the world had cursed Obi-Wan for all his secrets. 

“For you, my dear prince,” Obi-Wan replied, sure that nothing was more fitting, no feeling more tender, and at that same measure, more bewitching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :) 
> 
> and thank you so much to those who comment :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr! stanakin96.tumblr.com


	9. I Should Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Anakin makes an earth-shattering announcement at dinner, he meets Obi-Wan on the roof where they met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3

The sun of the early afternoon beamed on Obi-Wan’s skin, warming every bone in his body as he stretched out on the grass. He forgot he wasn't alone until he felt Anakin’s fingers, pressing lightly into his chest.

“I hope to never be parted from you, my lord,” he said, before quietly hovering his body over Obi-Wan. 

Unworried that they were in daylight, Obi-Wan curled his fingers underneath the collar of the prince’s shirt and kissed him, slowly, in the heat of daytime. It was only moments before Obi-Wan could  _ feel  _ Anakin sink into him, position his knees on either side of his hips, press his chest into his. The sun allowed the prince to simply melt into Obi-Wan, who now had taken his hands to the prince’s back, lightly scratching and pulling him close. Obi-Wan could feel everything about Anakin- his heat, his breath, his skin -

The general woke catching his breath, like a fish caught from the sea.

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his hair and over his face,  _ a dream, a dream _ , he reminded himself. He turned the knob of the oil lantern beside him until he laid in complete darkness, and laid his head back down on the pillow - as it did not take much effort to convince himself that such a memory was a dream. The feeling of Anakin’s skin on his fingers, on his mouth, real as ever, could not divert the one truth Obi-Wan knew: the prince would be eventually parted from him. 

Sleep did not come easily after remembering.

-

“Are you ready?” Asked Poe, straightening out the collar of Anakin’s shirt. The prince looked at him sadly, knowing Obi-Wan was waiting just outside the door.

“How could anybody be ready for something like this?” He asked, avoiding every mirror in the room, unable to face what he had to accept, and that he was a part of it.

-

“You look incredible, my prince,” said Obi-Wan, always marveled at his ability to speak in the prince’s presence. 

“Thank you, my lord. As do you,” Anakin replied, they walked toward the ballroom.

A cold filled the space between them, something neither of them were used to. The ground turned to ice beneath their feet, Obi-Wan noticed Poe’s significant distance behind them as they approached the dining area. There would be a group from the Naboo and Tatooine royal cabinets waiting for Anakin, for a weekly gathering of sorts.

“There is something I must warn you of my lord,” Anakin said, his voice lacking the same confidence it always carried. He looked at Obi-Wan and reached out to touch him, but retracted his hand when he saw Padme walk down the hall. Obi-Wan felt the brush of his fingertips against his armor, enough to make him wish that the prince had never reached out to him in the first place. He felt his chest tighten. 

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered, before rushing away to Padme’s side, leaving him. Alone on the ice, watching him from far away. 

The general skated through the dinner in the corner of the room, watching the prince’s every move, waiting for what he feared. It wasn’t until the end of the evening, where Anakin stood in his spot, already taller than every man in the room, did Obi-Wan realize what was happening. Padme looked up from the seat next to him, the room went silent as the prince stated that he had an announcement to make. 

“I am quite pleased to announce the marriage of princess Amidala and I has been moved ahead of time. Instead of waiting a traditional two more months, we shall only wait a fortnight before getting married.” Anakin looked at Obi-Wan when he said this, but the general turned away from him.

_ Two weeks. _

Enormous applause erupted throughout the room, but Obi-Wan found that he could not hear a sound. Every glass in the room was raised in a toast to the prince and his soon-to-be wife, yet Obi-Wan could only think about all the ways he knew Anakin that they did not. Anakin in the dead of night, Anakin in ink on paper, Anakin with his legs dangling off the edge of the castle. 

Sure that he could not remain in such a room anymore, Obi-Wan left. For a place he knew Anakin would find him, where he’d found him many, many years ago. 

-

Obi-Wan felt his heart pounding in his ears, soft like footsteps. He pressed a few fingers to his pulse that was beating rapidly on his neck in an attempt to make his heart slow. He’d been sitting at the ledge of the top of the castle for the better half of an hour now, meaning the racing of his heart had to belong to something else. 

It felt like Obi-Wan had dropped a glass of red wine when Anakin Skywalker approached the top of the stairs, and the ground beneath him had shattered - spilled and turned blood red. 

“A congratulations are in order, your grace,” said Obi-Wan, the floor rising to his ankles, pooling to his shins and consuming him and his hopelessness. His breath gave out every moment he spent in Anakin’s presence, the prince stepped closer to him.

“Obi-Wan-” Anakin started, reaching his hand out and gripping onto his shirtsleeve. Obi-Wan jerked away.

“Please refrain from touching me your grace before I make a fool of myself any more than I have in your audience.” Obi-Wan stopped himself in place before walking down the stairs and away from the prince, though every bone in his body wished to run. To escape. The silence returned and Obi-Wan thought of his dream from the night before, where silence came from his lips on Anakin’s. 

“Do you wish you had not met me on this very rooftop, my lord?” Asked Anakin. It burned Obi-Wan to his soul to be asked such a question. 

“For any pain you have caused me I have not once wished such a curse, my dear prince,” replied Obi-Wan, turning to Anakin. He reached into his pocket and touched the letter he’d written for the prince, thinking it would have better to have thrown it off the ledge of the castle to preserve his dignity. “I only regretted not having stayed near you.”

“Then look at me, my lord, please, for my greatest fear is being realized” asked Anakin, Obi-Wan could feel the heat of his body as the prince came closer.

“And what is that?” Obi-Wan walked away once more, a bitter, unrighteous anger brewing inside of him keeping him far away from Anakin.

_ It is his duty, his honor as himself. The greatest honor a prince can have is to take care of his country,  _ Obi-Wan tried to remind himself.

“I am losing you sooner than I thought. To lose you at all is misery but now we must remain in this wasted time,” said Anakin, his voice reaching out to him, pulling Obi-Wan in.

“Time wasted doing what my prince? I am not your betrothed, that much is obvious-” Obi-Wan started.

“Time I should have spent touching you my lord,” said Anakin, his eyes soft and reflecting watery tears in the star-light, “speaking with you, walking next to you, being near you.”

Obi-Wan stayed in his spot and rested his hand in his pocket, touching where his letter to Anakin was. A folded piece of parchment. Small in his hand yet it held so much.

“Swear to me it was not your idea my prince, for once you are married - ” he continued to allow himself to look at Anakin, Obi-Wan couldn’t finish the sentence. 

_ Once you are married I must be gone. _

“Swear it and I will remain in your possession tonight,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin, the prince in red, rushed toward Obi-Wan, the knight in white and gold. Obi-Wan fought for breath as the prince carded his tough fingers through his hair. 

“I swear it, my lord,” he whispered, taking his other hand and lightly pushing a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair behind his ear. “I will swear it one hundred times if you should request it of me.”

Obi-Wan, wondering if he had grown pale in his closeness to the prince, kept his breathing shallow. Though, he found it grew heavier as the prince turned closer to him, moving his body to the corner of the pillar, where soft moonlight bounced off his hair. Anakin looked at him once more. For assurance, for permission.

Obi-Wan snaked his hands around Anakin’s neck and pulled him in close to his lips, “allow me to be in your possession then, my prince.”

Thinking that such a confession and trickle of night time would lead to a slow, lingering moment, the general found that he could not be more incorrect. The prince did not waste a moment with him, a second had not passed before Anakin had pushed Obi-Wan’s back against the cobblestone, and pressed his lips on his. And it was surely everything Obi-Wan thought it would be.

Every move felt natural, like they’d been born to do this very thing. Obi-Wan dug his fingers lightly into Anakin’s back as he deepened the kiss. Obi-Wan softly parted his lips, teasing the prince with a flick of his tongue. Now keenly aware of Anakin’s body that he’d been running his hands all over it, Obi-Wan felt a small shiver run through the prince’s being.

“What’s the matter, my prince?” Asked Obi-Wan, who quickly moved away from him. Anakin gripped tightly to Obi-Wan’s arms and looked him in the eyes with all seriousness, as though they were not doing the most perfect thing in the world.

“It takes a great deal of restraint to hold back from you, my lord,” said Anakin, swallowing hard, aware of his own disposition. 

“Though we have little time left,” Obi-Wan moved his lips down and softly dragged them to Anakin’s neck. The prince lightly pulled at the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, his body nearly trembling in his grip. Obi-Wan quietly laughed and pressed the tip of his tongue to where he’d found Anakin to be  _ quite  _ sensitive. “I believe you shall find the wait worth it, my prince.”

Right as Obi-Wan believed himself to be in control of the situation, Anakin regained his composure, grabbed Obi-Wan once more, and pinned a long, hard kiss on his lips. Unable to control himself, Obi-Wan let out a quiet moan into the prince’s mouth, which seemed to only motivate him more. Such a declaration only motivated the prince more, as Anakin immediately pressed his knee in between Obi-Wan’s legs, his entire body folding into Obi-Wan’s like he’d dreamed it would countless times. Obi-Wan pressed his fingers into the prince’s chest, digging for the muscle and skin to keep Anakin close to him, the feeling of his knee in between his thighs making his head light. Anakin pressed deeper into his body, leading Obi-Wan to wonder if  _ he  _ was the one who needed to be wary of his sense of control with the prince.

“You must know, any wait is worth being able to touch you tonight, my lord,” Anakin confessed, his breath heavy against Obi-Wan’s mouth.

_ I should tell you-  _

“Anakin,” whispered Obi-Wan, kissing the prince before and after his name, he twirled a piece of his long, blond hair in his finger, “I can only pray that this will not be the last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it <3 <3
> 
> ty to everyone who has commented and kudo'd <3
> 
> follow me on tumblr :): stanakin96.tumblr.com


	10. Piece of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin finds himself jealous when Obi-Wan spends time with one of the newcomers from Naboo, perhaps a late night interaction with the general will change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> ~~i hope you brought napkins bc it's about to get saucy~~

_ My Dear Prince, _

_ Last night I had a dream that we were in battle together. You were a general, dressed in black and saying something to me - though I could not quite tell what it was. I think we might have been bickering, I was laughing. You looked older.  _

_ I believe we were quite happy for people who were supposed to be in wartime. _

_ Obi-Wan Kenobi _

-

Anakin eyed Obi-Wan. More than eyed, he watched, painstakingly, as though nobody was looking at him. Obi-Wan did not turn around, he continued to talk to the man in armor. 

“Who is that?” Anakin asked Qui-Gon, who had been eerily silent upon the arrival of the people from Naboo, in all of their _orange_. Padme had invited a few members of her circle to help prepare for the wedding, one of which had bought another knight of her royal guard. He was tall, with dark skin and black hair. 

Obi-Wan smiled at the man, _smiled_ at him, full teeth. Full everything. Anakin shifted in his spot, swallowed hard, and dug his fingers into his palm. Qui-Gon leaned over to him.

“I believe that is Commander Cody-”

“Obi-Wan never mentioned him, general,” Anakin interrupted, pouting, he sighed, “there are too many soldiers here. All due respect.” 

Padme approached him with a young woman, dressed in grey and black robes, with tan skin and a big smile. She bowed awkwardly in front of Anakin.

“There is no need for such formalities,” Anakin held out his hand, the woman shook it, “Anakin Skywalker.”

“Ahsoka Tano, your grace” the girl replied, her voice echoing throughout the chamber, Anakin smiled as they shook hands.

“I sincerely hope you not to be a knight in disguise, Lady Tano,” Anakin replied.

“Haha! I mean,” the girl continued to laugh, “why would you assume such a thing of me prince?”

“Would you consider joining us in our tour of the castle, my prince?” Padme asked. Anakin knew Padme expected him to say no, but as he looked over at Obi-Wan, who still had not broken his conversation from this Cody or _whoever_ , Anakin thought perhaps a change in scenery would be nice. He looked up at Qui-Gon and rolled his shoulders.

“Of course, princess, it would be my pleasure.” 

-

“Do they know about you?” Cody asked.

“Nobody here can ever know anything,” Obi-Wan replied, turning his back to watch Anakin leave the room, as he was always, entirely and abundantly aware of the prince’s absence.

-

The night was late by the time Anakin pulled Obi-Wan into his chambers. The prince had been thinking endlessly about Obi-Wan’s interaction with the knight from Naboo, and couldn’t stop torturing himself with questions about their friendship, how they knew each other, their _history_. The general was patrolling outside his room as he usually did at nighttime when Anakin opened the door and left it there, knowing it was enough of a signal for Obi-Wan to come in.

“You aren’t concerned about the windows?” Obi-Wan asked, Anakin lit a candle and placed it on his bedside table. All the curtains in the room had been pushed to the side so that the light of the stars could reflect inside his chambers.

“It is not a concern my lord,” Anakin started.

_ I just wanted to see what you look like when you’re looking at me. _

Before Anakin could even begin expressing his concerns with Obi-Wan, the general stepped closer, enchanting him, derailing him, Obi-Wan draped his arms around his neck, feather-light. Anakin breathed heavily and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s strong back, desperately trying to make all the right moves. Something about this, about being so close to him, made it impossible to breathe.

“What is your concern then, my prince?” Obi-Wan asked, pressing the toe of his shoe into Anakin’s and smiling. Full teeth. 

_ Do you look at him the same way you look at me?  _

The prince found he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and in the dim light of the candles, he could barely speak while looking at Obi-Wan. The orange and golden glow of it all seemed to match Obi-Wan perfectly, it reflected off his skin, his hair, his _everything_. Anakin wished he had a painting of how Obi-Wan looked in this moment kept in a locket, for him and only him to see.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, taking his right hand and combing through his long hair with his fingers. He pressed his thumb into Anakin’s temple and rubbed small circles into the side.

“Is it selfish to wish that you shouldneed me all the time, my lord?” Anakin asked, his voice nearly at a whisper.

Obi-Wan, quiet as he’d ever been, rocked onto his toes, pushed his left hand against Anakin’s neck, and kissed him. Slowly, without an ounce of hesitation or worry. Anakin’s body sighed into Obi-Wan’s as he let himself breathe into the kiss, taking in every ounce of Obi-Wan. 

Anakin pulled the general in closer by his fingertips at his shoulder blades and kissed him back, harder this time. The sound of Obi-Wan’s shuddering breath only made the prince want to kiss him more, _touch_ him more. Anakin pried Obi-Wan’s lips open with his tongue, wishing to taste everything that the general would let him. Obi-Wan pressed himself close to Anakin in return, their bodies now tangled together in a warm, breathy mess.

“I do need you,” Obi-Wan replied, moving his fingers from Anakin’s neck to where the buttons of his shirt laid, “I am beginning to fear there is never a moment where I do not.”

Anakin felt his chest drop into his stomach at such a confession, something about kissing Obi-Wan shook him to his core, but hearing that Obi-Wan _needed_ him, rattled him like a thunderstorm shaking a willow tree. He clung to every word the general said as though his very life depended on it. Anakin pressed his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, jealous and intrusive thoughts of Obi-Wan and Cody leaving his mind for the night.

“If you continue to speak to me in such a way I fear that I shall be at your side for you for much longer than you should prefer, my lord,” Anakin said.

“Here I was assuming that was my position, your grace,” Obi-Wan replied, the glow of the candles around him illuminating his skin. 

Anakin still found himself wishing he could capture the moment, keep it in his mind for all eternity. He bent down, wrapping Obi-Wan in his arms, and kissed him again, thinking that perhaps they’d exchanged enough words for the night. He breathed quietly into Obi-Wan’s lips as the general pawed at his shirt, lightly digging his fingers at the base of his neck, close to where fabric met the body. 

The prince wondered if his skin might light like the candles around him if Obi-Wan touched where he wished he would, where he dreamed he would. Underneath his shirt, on his chest, his collarbones, his hips, _everywhere_. Anakin felt his knees go weak at the very thought. Cold, autumn rain pattered at the windows around his chambers, Anakin pulled away slowly from the kiss, a sly smile creeping over his face, his eyebrow raised.

“Will you grant me a wish, my lord?” Anakin asked, lightly running a finger over Obi-Wan’s neck, watching carefully for the general’s reaction. Obi-Wan breathed heavily and pressed his body closer to his.

“What should I receive in return, prince?” Obi-Wan replied, pressing his lips on Anakin’s neck, causing the Anakin to freeze where he stood - desperately clinging onto all the self-control he could possibly hold.

“Wear my pin,” Anakin wrapped his fingers around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, playing with his hair, he liked how long it was - “though everyone in the castle shouldn’t know about you and me, it would surely be a great pleasure to see something of mine on your chest, my lord.”

_ I want everyone to know who you belong to - General,  _ Anakin thought.

“I promise I shall make it worth your efforts, my lord,” Anakin said, as Obi-Wan stepped back on his toes and kissed him. Anakin, frantic as he’d tried to hide, grabbed the general’s arms and clung to them, digging his nails into his skin. Obi-Wan, without a moment of warning, pressed Anakin against the tough wall of his chambers and began carding his hands all over Anakin’s body. Anakin, desperate for a moment as this from the moment he’d laid eyes on Obi-Wan, kissed back harder than he ever had.

“We shall see then, my dear prince,” Obi-Wan lightly bit Anakin’s lip before he pulled away, leaving Anakin paralyzed by his touch, “all the ways you will make it worth my efforts tomorrow.”

“Why on earth should you leave me now my lord?” Anakin asked, pulling Obi-Wan in with his fingers underneath the collar of his shirt. The general placed a final, lingering kiss on Anakin’s cheek.

“Morning approaches, dear prince,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling, “besides, I sincerely doubt I could avoid you for long.”

Anakin looked out the window next to him and recognized the subtle blue creeping over the darkness of the sky. Obi-Wan slipped a letter into Anakin’s pocket with two fingers before approaching the door, Anakin watched every move of his body, every step of his shoes as he walked away. 

“Goodnight, my lord,” Anakin said, his skin still burning under Obi-Wan’s touch.

“Goodnight, my prince,” replied Obi-Wan, smiling softly as he shut the door behind him.

Knowing that Anakin could simply not lay down and go to sleep after such an interaction, Anakin continued to stand in the space where Obi-Wan had pressed him against the wall and closed his eyes. 

He could imagine the moment perfectly - the sheer force of Obi-Wan’s touch, how rough and strong he’d been with him. It felt intoxicating, it made all of Anakin’s body warm and tender. It was only a matter of minutes before the prince had slipped his fingers down his pants, unable to keep from touching himself after such an interaction with the general.

“ _Obi-Wan-_ ” Anakin whispered to himself, his back pressed against the wall, just as the general had done. 

His cock was already hard and pulsing in his hands after kissing and _touching_ Obi-Wan for so long. Anakin tried to imagine that it was Obi-Wan stroking up and down his cock. He let out a moan, far louder than he intended, at the very thought. 

Anakin began stroking harder, slightly ashamed that he’d let himself become so indisposed after only a matter of minutes with the general. The prince felt himself already approaching his edge when he stepped further into the dreamy mirage of Obi-Wan’s hands wrapped around his cock - whispering things in his ear - his fingers paying special attention to the head. Anakin bit his lip to prevent himself from moaning out again as warm come covered his hand and fingers. 

Rational thought and clear sight finally returning to his body, Anakin slid down the wall and onto the floor, breathing heavily. The prince found himself wondering, if perhaps, what he felt for the general was more than what he felt for him. After all, they hadn’t known each other closely for more than a month, and Anakin was to be married in two weeks. The prince sighed at the thought - he was so keen to keep it out of his mind. 

Perhaps Anakin had created it all in his head: that Obi-Wan would have such intense feelings as he had for him. As Anakin found himself tortured by Obi-Wan’s touch, and constantly, ceaselessly, searching for his attention. What a foolish thing he’d done tonight - asking Obi-Wan to wear the pin he’d given him, like a jealous teenager. Anakin sighed once more. 

The prince began to wonder if what he felt for the general was more than attraction, and that if the fire Obi-Wan lit with his fingers against his skin meant more. Perhaps it had all begun to mean far, far more. 

-

The following morning was chilly after the rain of the night before. Every member of the palace had brought out their autumn coats, except a few members from Naboo. Anakin walked the corridors with Qui-Gon when he saw him. The only _him_ that mattered.

Obi-Wan. 

Standing tall, smiling. Talking to Padme, in his usual attire, his hands folded behind his back and his fingers intertwined. Anakin stopped in his spot.

“Anything peculiar my prince?” Qui-Gon asked.

Anakin noticed a small, red glimmer tightly pressed on with the rest of Obi-Wan’s medals on the right side of his chest. He’d worn it - Anakin’s pin. The prince felt his heart fill in a way he’d never felt it fill before, like perhaps his chest was not a glass to be filled but an endless sea - Anakin thought, surely, he could never grow tired of this feeling.

“No, my lord,” Anakin replied, his eyes still fixed on Obi-Wan, “everything looks perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr! stanakin96.tumblr.com


	11. No Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin continues to feel jealous over Obi-Wan, and the general makes a confession about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)

Anakin fell hard onto the ground beneath him, listening for the hard crack of bones that were _surely_ breaking. He loudly laughed, looking up at a cloudy sky.

“Remind me again of why I agreed to this my lord,” he asked. 

“You asked it of me, my prince,” Obi-Wan held out his hand to help Anakin up, “I aim to please.”

Anakin felt his stomach boil at such a flirty comment, like he’d break into one thousand pieces if Obi-Wan looked at him for more than a moment or two. He held up his sword once more, so did the general. He’d asked Obi-Wan to spar with him when the weather was good, he’d only ever done so with Poe. Who was a fine swordsman, but no knight.

“Just say the word and I’ll go easy on you, your grace,” Obi-Wan said, snarky as he’d ever been. 

It was hard for Anakin to pay attention when the general was like this. Hair sweaty and pushed to the side, confident and smiling brightly. Friendship had crept its hand around the two of them recently, in their letters, in stolen laughs, playful remarks - Anakin found that he spent every moment of the day devoted to some thought about Obi-Wan Kenobi. And if it wasn’t a thought about him, then it was something he couldn’t _wait_ to tell him. 

Anakin met his sword in the middle, the sound of steel rang in his ears.

“Distracted?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling, his eyes making Anakin feel weak and desperate, like he’d only just met the general. Like he’d never touched him before.

Anakin threw his sword to the ground casually, looking around him to make sure that there were no watchful eyes. He reached for Obi-Wan’s sleeve and pulled him close.

“Come with me, my lord,” he asked, Obi-Wan immediately followed. Anakin brought him to an armor closet that he used to hide in when he was young. It felt far smaller, now, but it was perfect for what he needed.

Anakin pressed Obi-Wan against the wall of the closet, kissing quiet breaths into the general’s lips - unthinking of the noise he might be making. He felt so desperate to touch Obi-Wan, under his clothes, on his bare skin, he was fearful of what he might do in this very room. 

“I felt your absence greatly, last night, my lord,” Anakin said, 

It was a drawn-out way of saying _I was up all night thinking that you weren’t mine._

Obi-Wan kneaded the tips of his fingers into the side of Anakin’s neck and pulled him down to his height, kissing the prince softly. 

“And I felt yours, my prince,” he said, his other hand resting on Anakin’s chest, digging into his clothes.

“I wish that I could have you in my chambers every night until the-” Anakin stopped himself. He stopped kissing Obi-Wan altogether when he realized what he’d said. 

The prince looked down at the floor beneath him at the thought - “until the wedding”, he finished. 

He’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Obi-Wan and Cody that he’d forgotten the real thing that separated him from and the general - that got in their way. Obi-Wan softly snaked his hand from Anakin’s chest to his face, turning it towards him.

“Look at me Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, the two of them existing in the knowledge that they’d both have to leave the closet within a matter of minutes. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Anakin’s waist and pawed his arms up around his back, scratching lightly. Anakin bent down quickly, towering over Obi-Wan in the cramped space of the closet, he pressed his lips against his. 

“Meet me in the gardens tonight,” Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin’s lips, his fingers twirling around in his hair, “when everyone is asleep, I shall be waiting, my dear prince.”

-

Obi-Wan did his best not to remember his time in combat. 

There was a brief period of Naboo’s history where there was a conflict with a country nearby early in his time as a general. It was frightening, it pushed him to the limits of what he knew about himself. He went days without an ounce of light, only the flicker of candles when he and his men could manage it. Every night he’d give out the rations of food for dinner, always sacrificing his own so that his men could eat more. Nobody ever noticed.

Nobody ever noticed until Cody.

“General-” he started, firmly, standing at the entrance of Obi-Wan’s chambers. They were both younger, then. The commander stood upright, his arms clasped across his chest firmly.

“At ease,” Obi-Wan said, softly, “how can I help you?” 

Obi-Wan knew little about Cody, other than how he performed with his troops. He was a good leader, a good speaker, people liked him. He held out a piece of bread in his dark, big hands.

“I’ve seen you, general,” he said. 

Warm silence interrupted only by the flicker of a candle that stood between them. The night was the only peaceful time that existed in war.

“And if I don’t take it?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling brightly at him. Cody shifted in his spot.

“I’ll be forced to reveal your position, general Kenobi,” Cody replied, sticking his arm out even closer to Obi-Wan, who smiled even bigger. Obi-Wan stood up and reached for the piece of bread, lightly brushing his fingers by Cody’s knuckles in the process.

“Obi-Wan, commander,” he stated, “if you’re going to threaten me, you might as well call me by my name.”

Obi-Wan tried not to think about it, but when he passed Cody in the corridors of Skywalker castle, he couldn’t help but remember every moment of it all. The faint glimmer of orange and yellow. It took the air out of him every time. 

He had to tell Anakin, he would tell him tonight. 

It felt wrong to think about it while he waited for Anakin in the gardens. He recognized Anakin’s presence the moment he was near him. 

“I must tell you something, my prince,” started Obi-Wan.

Anakin felt his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps this is what he was given by the universe for chasing after Obi-Wan when he was betrothed to Padme. Even so, the prince reached out his hand and thumbed his fingers through the general’s hair, careful to be as soft as he could.

“If you do not say it then it is not so my lord,” Anakin said, a whisper jealous of a laugh coming through his voice. 

“The man you met when Lady Tano came, Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan paused when he said _his_ name. Anakin dropped his hand from Obi-Wan’s hair to the nape of his neck, unable to keep his arm upright anymore, his strength failing him.

_Why did it hurt so much to hear him say his name?_

“I was with him, in the war,” Obi-Wan paused again, “before you, Anakin.”

The prince dropped his fingers down to Obi-Wan’s chest, where his collarbones rested underneath clothing, “did you say my name because you said his, my lord?” 

A soft raindrop hit the top of Anakin’s hair, then another. Obi-Wan quickly stood up and took Anakin’s hand into his - something he’d never done before. Something nobody had ever done before.

“Come with me,” Obi-Wan demanded, taking Anakin further into the maze. 

Soon Obi-Wan had one hand in Anakin’s hair, and his body pressed close to his. He pushed Anakin against the hedge wall and laced their fingers together, the act of it somehow more intimate than kissing. Anakin all but moaned into Obi-Wan’s mouth when the general finally kissed him. Soft and slow, like he’d never kissed him before. Anakin dug into Obi-Wan’s palm, now realizing how good it felt to have some part of him be held so tightly by the general.

“I say your name because it is a precious thing,” soft rain now poured while Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin, “I only have it for so long, my prince.”

Anakin felt that the rain was a reflection of how he felt. It was almost impossible to see in the darkness of the night, and yet it covered them. He pulled away from the general. He thought about Padme, about Cody, and turned away from Obi-Wan. Anakin headed back towards the castle, determined not to turn around and face Obi-Wan.

“Anakin” Obi-Wan called out, loudly, “you do not get the luxury to leave, not with the little time we have left, my prince.”

The rain continued to pour, Anakin turned to face Obi-Wan. He still looked beautiful, with his hair wet. Anakin wondered what it would feel like tangled in his fingers.

“Do you realize when the sun rises in the morning we have seven days left, my prince?” Obi-Wan asked, Anakin swallowed. 

_Seven days_. Seven days and he’d barely touched him, barely kissed him. Anakin walked back towards Obi-Wan, only taking a few large steps before he was touching the general again. 

“You have wrapped around me like ivy,” Anakin said, remembering what Obi-Wan had written to him so long ago. 

He kissed him hard, pushing his body against the wet hedge of the garden maze. Obi-Wan kissed back, desperate and needy for the prince. Had it not been for the rain, Anakin thought he could’ve stayed there all night with the general.

“I wish you’d been born a prince-” Anakin said, on accident - grateful he’d managed to stop himself before saying any more. He felt his face grow red, grateful for the darkness of the night so Obi-Wan couldn’t see his blush. If the general wanted to keep kissing him, he wouldn’t ask _why_ Anakin wished that he be born a prince. Why he thought about it endlessly. Ceaselessly. 

Obi-Wan whispered, also careful to stop himself before saying any more - "I believe I was born yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment if you liked it :) and ty to everyone who commented <3
> 
> follow me on tumblr!
> 
> stanakin96.tumblr.com


	12. Through the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the wedding in a few days, Anakin makes a realization about Obi-Wan, and wishes that they had more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> <3

Anakin held the letter in his hands and twirled it around carefully. He traced the corners with his fingers and ran over the seal lightly, thinking about the contents inside. His stomach churned at the thought of handing it over to Obi-Wan, about brushing his warm fingers in the process. 

_Dear Obi-Wan,_

_In my fantasies as a child, I wished for a sibling, so that the castle would not feel as lonely. When I realized that I would be the sole air to the kingdom of Tatooine, I wished for a sibling even more. It is not to say that I do not look forward to ruling - but perhaps it was too great a responsibility for as young as I was when my mother passed. Twelve is not a very experienced age to hear that the future of an entire country relies on your ability to be married._

_When I was younger I believed my dreams could predict the future. When I was nine, I had a dream that I was being sworn in by the priests of Tatooine in the throne room, I wore my mother’s small golden crown. But her face was not in the group, she was not there. At eleven, I experienced such a gathering - though the dream did not prepare me for the sadness I would feel on that day._

_This week, I've dreamt of you every night. You are a King, dressed in navy blue and gold, you wear my ring and touch my arm._

_Anakin Skywalker_

_An aside -_

_I look forward to being King, but as of late there is a general from Naboo who roams my castle with blond hair and white armor who makes me wish, occasionally, that I was given a choice._

-

“Who is this man, truly? I have not seen him before,” Poe asked.

“Commander Cody. I told you -” Anakin said.

Anakin watched painstakingly as Obi-Wan chatted with Cody across the room. The two of them were keeping things quiet now that the wedding was getting close, but Anakin couldn’t help but miss having the general at his side at all times.

“I’m afraid that’s not who I’m talking about,” Poe replied, his eyes also fixed on something, Anakin looked ahead. Padme was talking to a tall and, quite strong, man, he had dark skin and black hair. He smiled back at Anakin, Poe quickly turned his face.

“Another one of Padme’s family members, an Archduke called Finn, but don’t address him by his title, he just prefers Finn. If you enjoy him you should do something - lest you live as unhappily as me.” Anakin sighed, looking across the room at Obi-Wan, how the sun reflected off his hair.

“Well, you could always abdicate the throne and leave Tatooine to complete ruin, your grace. Though I suppose people have done far more for love,” said Poe. Anakin laughed, but the word stuck in his mouth.

_Love_.

Poe shifted in his spot, they were all gathered in the ballroom to practice dancing for the wedding in a few days - a custom Anakin was used to. He remembered rehearsing for birthdays and anniversaries early in his childhood. Finn and Padme approached, their outfits reflected off of each other. Padme’s dress was a dark, navy blue with golden trim, and Finn wore a dark blue suit to match.

“Have you made lord Dameron’s acquaintance?” Asked Anakin, smiling brightly and aiming his hand towards Poe.

“I have not yet had the pleasure, your grace,” Poe interjected, moving in front of Anakin and taking Finn’s hand for a shake, “though I am hardly a lord of anything.”

Finn smiled at Poe, reminding Anakin of how it felt to be smiled at by Obi-Wan.

“I beg to differ,” Finn replied, his voice low and confident. Anakin had never seen Poe so nervous.

“May I offer you a tour of the castle, your grace?” Poe asked.

“It would be my honor,” said Finn, his smile infectious and spreading to all members of the party - until only Anakin and Padme were left. 

An air of silence and awkwardness surrounded her and Anakin, he could hardly believe the two of them had once been friends. For as badly as he felt about losing Obi-Wan in a matter of days, it still pained him to look Padme in the eyes. Such avoidance had struck a strong and definitive mote in between the two. Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan once more, who was practically beaming in the light of the window, before turning to Padme. He didn’t want her to hate him, especially after all that had already happened. He garishly bowed for her, remembering how well they got along the first week.

“Future Queen of Tatooine,” he held out a hand to her, already smiling at the sound of her laughter, “may I have this dance?” 

“You may,” Padme placed a careful hand into his palm, she smiled back at him, delicately, pretty like a flower, “future King of Tatooine.”

Music filled the room, a modern and quiet orchestral tune that Anakin liked. Violin strings circled the marble pillars and soft harpsichord anchored every corner. Padme and Anakin danced in silence for a few moments, giving the young prince a moment to gather his thoughts - careful not to look at the general in the window.

“I must apologize for my absence,” Anakin said, Padme averted his eyesight. 

“You needn’t, your grace,” she replied, “truthfully I have found myself in all matters of nerves about the next few days.”

Anakin turned his head in surprise, her confession made him want to know more. Something about Padme, now, where it was essentially just the two of them, felt far more authentic than she’d ever seemed to him. More beautiful, as well, in her navy blue dress and glittering makeup.

“Do you still have dreams of politics instead of royalty, princess? Of being a senator?” Anakin asked, thinking of one of their first conversations.

“Does a bird have wings, my prince?” Padme replied.

_My prince_ , Anakin’s stomach lurched as he remembered Obi-Wan calling him that. Whispering it into his lips, into his skin. Anakin continued dancing, nonetheless. 

“I wish that you could have everything you wanted, princess,” Anakin said, twirling Padme.

“Perhaps we’d be less nervous about the ceremony, in that case, your grace,” Padme replied, smiling. Of course she'd sensed his nerves, as well.

The song came to an end and the two bowed at each other, smiling now in the comfort they’d created of a renewed friendship. 

“Your dress is beautiful, princess,” said Anakin, awkwardly. He remembered Obi-Wan in his dreams, how Padme matched the very colors he wore. 

“Thank you, your grace,” her eyelashes fluttered as she twirled the fabric, “blue and gold are Naboo’s royal colors.”

-

When Anakin couldn’t find Obi-Wan at night, he found himself looking for corners of light in the darkness. 

If Obi-Wan was awake, he likely had a candle nearby, and perhaps a book. After searching for nearly an hour, Anakin found a pocket of yellow and gold in the gallery. He’d almost given up his search at such a point. Obi-Wan was eerily silent and Anakin was sure the general was aware of his presence. He stood in front of the portrait that Anakin had found him at during the gallery party, a painting of himself that he did his best not to ever look at.

“Why should I find you here my lord?” Anakin asked, stepping closer to Obi-Wan, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Anakin looked at the portrait, even now, in the dim flicker of candlelight at nighttime, he didn’t like it. He appeared far too young, too angry.

“I came to a realization today, your grace,” Obi-Wan said, staring at the painting. He looked at it so fondly, with a focused face and eyes that gazed instead of criticized. 

“What is that my lord?” Anakin asked, moving closer to the general, though he still had not looked at him or touched him.

“Once you are married, looking at this painting will be the only time I have alone with you,” Obi-Wan said, softly, his hands folded behind his back. 

Anakin wished he could reply to counter Obi-Wan’s statement. Though, it might be painfully true. With the wedding so soon, it was hard to think of much else than the feeling of Obi-Wan slipping out of his fingers and into the bend of the room. The end was coming - and the end was coming soon.

“A few days ago, you said you wished me to be a prince. Why did you say such a thing, your grace?” Obi-Wan asked.

The hour was late and surely everyone was asleep, but Anakin still did not attempt to make any brash moves in such a public place. Anakin set his lamp down, approached Obi-Wan slowly, and took his left hand into his. He placed Obi-Wan’s hand on his chest - it was not a kiss, barely even a touch, but the prince knew he had to be touching the general when he said it.

“Padme will allow me to be king, she will be a good symbol for Tatooine and a smart counselor, perhaps we will even have a good friendship” he moved Obi-Wan’s hand up from his chest to his neck, paying attention to Obi-Wan’s ring finger. 

“But had you been born a prince, my lord, I would have asked for your hand within a week of meeting you,” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan pressed his body close to Anakin's, now seemingly unafraid of their location and forgetting the painting completely. He raked his other hand up Anakin’s chest and clung to his clothes, pressing his knees and legs into his until they were completely intertwined.

“I would have wished to ask earlier, but a week or two is customary in Tatooine,” Anakin commented, he and Obi-Wan both quietly laughed together in their make-believe world. 

“There is no custom in Naboo,” Obi-Wan said, wrapping his hand around Anakin’s neck and pulling the prince down to his lips, “perhaps I would have beaten you to the chase, your grace.” 

Obi-Wan placed a warm, lingering kiss on Anakin’s jawline, reminding him of their time together before they’d confessed feelings. The young prince was transported to their meeting in the worker’s chambers after the ball, when they’d gotten so close, but were still so far. In Anakin’s chambers after Obi-Wan had found him in his mother’s room. The act of Obi-Wan kissing his skin, soft and slowly, not even his lips, still had the same effect as it did then. Anakin dug his fingernails into the general’s back.

“Perhaps, my lord,” Anakin said, kissing the general’s neck. Anakin could feel his mind wandering to thoughts of marrying Obi-Wan, to their life together. Anakin gripped him by the shoulders and pressed him into the corner of the wall - where he could kiss him as long as he wished - and think infinitely about him.

How well Obi-Wan would do as a king with all of his military experience. His laughter echoing through the corridors, and how Anakin would never have to worry about its absence. Obi-Wan waking up in the mornings, quiet and sleepy in Anakin’s bed. Obi-Wan getting to see the country of Tatooine. Obi-Wan with _children_ \- all things he would never experience. Anakin heard Poe’s voice in his head.

_Though I suppose people have done far more for love._

Anakin began to wonder about a certain word. 

He wondered about Obi-Wan wearing blue and gold in his dreams every night, what it all meant. He wondered about what mysterious force had brought the general to him, both when he was young and when he was older. And foolishly, he began to hope, as well. That this time, feeling the general’s strong arms, kissing him long and achingly deep, would not be the last. 

He could feel it in Obi-Wan’s touch - one syllable. Four letters. 

Love _,_ making its way through the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you liked it :) ❤️❤️
> 
> and thank you to everyone who comments and kudos <3 you guys are angels
> 
> follow me on tumblr! stanakin96.tumblr.com


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